


Still Waters

by brazenedMinstrel, Greypaws



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Blood and Gore, Blood and Injury, Canon-Typical Violence, Denial of Feelings, F/F, Feels, Philippa is still Philippa, Sharing a Bed, Slow Burn, Sodden included, Sorceress of Rinde!Tissaia, There's geralt/jaskier but only in a few chapters as a side-ship, Witcher!Anica, Witcher!Coral, Witcher!Yennefer, Witchering, battles, chase scenes, eventual hurt/comfort, monster hunting, very slow slow burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-21
Updated: 2021-02-28
Packaged: 2021-03-04 07:28:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 33
Words: 120,045
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24846064
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/brazenedMinstrel/pseuds/brazenedMinstrel, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Greypaws/pseuds/Greypaws
Summary: Yennefer is a witcher of the school of the wolf, Tissaia is the resident sorceress of Rinde. Coral is a witcher of the school of the bear. Philippa lives in the court of the Redanian king, relatively close to Tissaia. She visits sometimes, to be a pest, if she isn’t making frequent trips to Skellige because of a certain witcher. Coral also comes to Rinde frequently for this reason. In this story, the witcher schools never shutdown  down, and various characters are witchers instead of their canon roles. The events of the netflix show will still happen in one way or another.Updates more or less weekly
Relationships: Tissaia de Vries/Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg
Comments: 585
Kudos: 322





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [xxTORCHxx](https://archiveofourown.org/users/xxTORCHxx/gifts).



> Here is our long awaited witcher!Yennefer fic! Another collaboration between Greypaws and me. Expect a story full of witchering, denial of feelings, gayness and how Yennefer tries so hard to make herself believe that witchers can't feel emotions.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter has audio narration by Greypaws, if you prefer to hear the story instead of reading it.

[brazenedMinstrel](https://soundcloud.com/user-768938233) · [The Lady-witcher of Vengerberg](https://soundcloud.com/user-768938233/the-lady-witcher-of-vengerberg)

_(Music by brazenedMinstrel)_

* * *

[Greypaws](https://soundcloud.com/user-100350749) · [Still Waters Chapter 1](https://soundcloud.com/user-100350749/still-waters-chapter-1)

_(Audio narration by Greypaws)_

* * *

The sun rose above the great fortress of Kaer Morhen. In the courtyard, a group of trainees was already practicing, swinging the heavy wooden training swords back and forth as the sun rays crept above the ramparts. They didn’t get to enjoy the warmth much, being pushed to their limit by their instructor. The two fully-fledged witchers who leaned against the castle wall however, made the most of the moment of relaxation. They followed the trainees with their yellow eyes, watching as they shifted back and forth in an even rhythm. Still, they were so relaxed that one could say they acted as cats, rather than wolves. 

A third witcher joined them. He wasn’t a young graduate anymore, nor was he as old as their mentor Vesemir. He was younger than the taller witcher of the pair that observed the recruits, but older than the shorter one. His hair was stark white, making him an outlier even amongst witchers. Usually, he was calm and relatively soft-spoken. A big presence, but a quiet man. Now though, he seemed nervous as he addressed his two fellow witchers of the wolf school. 

“Eskel, Anica… Have you seen Yen?” he asked, prompting a laugh from the both of them. 

“Asleep,” Anica replied, tucking a lock of her brown hair behind her ear. “Eskel and I already knocked on her door earlier. She told us to fuck off.” 

Eskel nodded avidly as he joined in. “She’s lazy, as per usual, when she’s back from a hunt.”

“She’s been back for a week. If it were because of the hunt, she’d be up by now,” Anica said with a shrug. 

“I’ll tell her you two called her lazy. Should be fun to watch her reaction,” Geralt mumbled as he turned to the corridor that led into the castle. 

“Wait, Geralt! You’re not actually serious, are you?” Eskel called out. 

He heard Anica laugh behind him, the shifting of her boots alerting him to the fact that she had pushed herself away from the wall and had started to walk in the opposite direction. Likely, she was going to get breakfast from the mess hall. “ _Ah_ yes, I do like a good Yennefer fit,” she said. 

Anica could endure said fits of rage better than most of the witchers. It was fair, since she had been in the same class of recruits as Yennefer, all the way from their initiation to their trials. As for Geralt, he had also built up a fair bit of resistance against Yennefer’s mood swings. The two of them were practically siblings, having been thick as thieves ever since Yennefer had plucked him off the road as a small boy, so many years ago. 

A vague smile tugged on his lips as he remembered the crooked grin that had smiled down upon him, and the curious purple eyes above it. The grin was straight now, and Yennefer’s eyes had long since turned yellow, as with all witchers. Geralt had also grown taller than her, by a good few inches, something he had endlessly teased her with, just before his trails. Until one day, Yennefer had simply kneed him in the groin, stating that it was easier to do so now that he was taller. 

He still hesitated a moment before knocking twice on the door that led to the room that Yennefer occupied when she was in Kaer Morhen. It was a small room, as all witchers had. Inside there was a bed, a small desk, a closet and a hearth. When he received no answer, he carefully opened the door and peered into the room. “Yen?” 

From the heap of blankets on the bed, where one foot stuck out from, came a muffled noise. The black mop of hair on the pillow shifted a little. “Fuck off,” Yennefer groaned. 

Some recruits would have taken off into the corridor. Even a few of the fully trained witchers, Eskel and Doralis included, would have simply let her be. But Geralt softly closed the door and walked up to the bed. “Vesemir has jobs for us. If you’re not going to get up, I’ll pull the blankets off you.” 

“Touch them and I’ll hack off your foot with a dull training sword, then stuff it down your throat.” With another groan, Yennefer lifted her head. Despite her protest, she sat upright in the bed and cast a look at Geralt. 

Yennefer could be called a beautiful woman. ‘A vision’, as people who wanted her to kill a beast for less money than she asked said to her sometimes. Geralt had strong doubts about that. Perhaps Yennefer _could_ be called a vision, if she didn’t glare at him with two bright yellow eyes as if she wanted to rip out his guts for waking her up. Maybe if she wasn’t busy removing hairs from her mouth. Hair that was a tangled mess of black strands, with one stark white streak near her temple. Perhaps if she didn’t kick her legs free of the blankets and stumbled inelegantly, and naked, to a bucket with water that stood on a stool near the window. 

As she splashed cold water on her face and cupped some of it in her hands to wash the rest of her body, she shot another glare at Geralt. “Stop standing around. Go tell Vesemir I’ll be in the great hall soon. Oh, and punch Eskel in the face for waking me up earlier today.” 

“Anica knocked,” Geralt mumbled as he made his way out of the room. 

“Punch her, then. Or I’ll do it myself if you’re too knightly to punch a lady.” 

“A lady who decapitated a basilisk on her own and wins arm wrestling matches with you half the time… I know better. Also, I’m not a knight.” 

~~~

When Yennefer made her way down to the courtyard, a few minutes later, she was still tying the laces of her breeches. She tied her hair up in the traditional witcher way, with two strands of hair pulled back, around her head. It wasn’t necessary to pause when she exited the dark hallway and walked into the sunny courtyard, because her enhanced eyes rapidly adjusted to the difference in light level. She sneered at the recruits, who were putting away the wooden training swords. 

“Come on, put some speed into it. You’ll never kill a monster if you’re that slow,” Anica said, preparing to herd them out of the castle for their daily endurance training, which consisted of running in the wild surrounding area. “Oh, look, there’s Yennefer. Now you have to hurry more, she’s rude.” 

“Move,” Yennefer grunted, realizing that she only reinforced what Anica was already saying. A young girl with red hair and a round face could barely avoid being shoved aside, tripping over her own feet as she hurried along to where the rest of the group was following Anica. 

Once she had arrived in the great hall, she found Geralt and Vesemir standing at one of the tables. The conversation they were having died off as she approached, her heavy boots loudly announcing her presence. There was no need to be quiet here.

“You’re lazy, Yennefer. It’s well into the afternoon, and I can tell you’ve just rolled out of bed. You set a terrible example,” Vesemir said as he looked upon her, an ever judgemental look strewn across his face.

“But I’m good with a sword and pretty to look at. I think that’s worth something. Now, can we please get to the point of this meeting? I would much rather be slaying bed monsters at the moment.” Yennefer sighed, looking over at Geralt as she did so. He rolled his eyes at her in veiled disgust. He was used to her over abundance of attitude, and Vesemir had stopped being intimidating to her long ago.

The elder mentor glared at her, a look she was used to after all the time they had spent together. Some of those times were less pleasant than others, for the trials had taken their toll. Vesemir had taught her well, even if his lessons were harsh. Eventually, all of the witchers looked to him as a father figure, once they stopped hating him.

Yennefer felt the sting of her transformation everytime her eyes met his, a feeling she had become well acquainted with. Most often while he was casting the same contemptuous look he was giving to her now.

“The same thing it’s always about Yennefer, monsters.” Vesemir pointed to an untidy stack of parchment on the table. “Nasty ones as well. There have been reports of Kikimora, sirens sighted near the coast of Novigrad, bears around Skellige and something else in Rinde which the townsfolk can’t seem to describe. Whatever it is, it seems to have spooked them. Their sorceress sent us a letter, asking for a witcher to take care of it.”

Geralt responded, picking up a slightly crumpled piece of parchment, his voice gruff as he responded. “ _Hmm_ , when are there _not_ bears around Skellige.”

“I don’t ask questions. I just take the requests, then give them to the most capable witchers. **_Are_ ** you the most capable? Or would you rather be sleeping too, like Yennefer of Vengerberg?” His voice was mocking and laced with a taunt, for he knew how to get his youthful witchers riled up.

“I may enjoy my beauty rest, but I also enjoy coin.” Yennefer snatched the request Geralt held in his hand, allowing it to fall to the table once she realized how boring it was. She could kill a Kikimora in her sleep, she needed something much more adventurous than that.

“A nest of sirens.” Geralt arched a brow as he read over another request, this one hailing from Redania, “that could be interesting.”

“Unlikely,” Yennefer responded.

“What’s wrong Yen, is a half-woman, half sea creature, all talons and screeches, too much for you? Or are you just afraid of competition?” Geralt mused.

“Fuck off, little brother. I can handle myself against a fish-faced wench just fine. In more ways than one, I’ll have you know.”

Vesemir growled under his breath. “Please, just pick a task and get out of my hair. I’ve much better things to do than to listen to the two of you bicker.”

“Fine,” Yennefer said as she snatched another piece of parchment from the table, scanning it over before she decided to say more than just one word. “I’ll take this one, in Rinde. It mentions something about cattle. They seem to know nothing about what plagues them, but I like a challenge. Especially one that pays well. Redania’s wealthy.”

“Good, now you, Geralt.”

“ _Hmm_. I’ll head to Redania as well. The sirens sighted by Novigrad. Maybe I’ll deal with the Kikimora in Blaviken on the way back. We can ride together for at least part of the way before breaking off at Roggeveen.” Geralt folded the pieces of parchment which carried the details of his mission in half before tucking it inside his armor.

Yennefer chuckled, “Afraid to make the rest of the pack jealous? Riding off to put a flock of seductive fish women out of their misery.”

“They have their own tasks to take care of. And you couldn’t care less about seductive fish women. Bards will sing tales of how I took on the sirens of Novigrad. What songs will be written about you?” Geralt rebutted.

“I’ll put you both out of your misery if you don’t stop,” Vesemir interjected. “Now go. You both have your missions.”

The walk to the stables was not far, but it’s distance felt elongated whenever they were dispatched to deal with a threat, no matter how insignificant it was. Yennefer looked to Geralt, who was matching her stride exactly, quietly hoping that they would once again join up after their respective tasks were completed.

Geralt sighed. “Don’t look at me as if I’m going to die.”

“Don’t sigh at me as if you are going to live,” Yennefer retorted.

“I wanted this life, the life of a witcher. I knew the risks then.” Geralt paused to look Yennefer in her yellow eyes. “And I know the risks now. I know those risks carry great consequences, even today.”

“Good, because if I have to listen to bards singing of the fallen witcher Geralt for the rest of my life, I’ll dispute every good deed you’ve ever done and I’ll let your infamy fade.” Yennefer smirked at him, hiding the fact that should something happen to him, she would be crushed. It wasn’t a feeling she had for many people, but Geralt was different. Knowing that Geralt was around, even when they were miles apart, had always made her feel less alone.

“If I meet any, I’ll remind them not to sing in case I perish,” Geralt said dryly as they entered the stables. Anica was there, she turned to look over her shoulder momentarily, then returned to her task of tending to her horses’ hooves.

“Making sure Eel doesn’t slither her way into a pond?” Yennefer teased as she removed her saddle from a saddle rack and made her way to Raven, a jet black stallion with a stripe of white across his face.

“That only happened once, Yennefer, and it was my fault for not seeing the sinkhole first. Besides, what does that have to do with me taking care of my horse,” Anica said as she narrowed her eyes at the dark haired woman. Eel, her greyish mare, seemed to do the same. 

“Just ignore her Anica, she has a new monster to deal with so she’s extra feisty.” He patted Roach on the back, casting a sidelong glance at the two women. Before their trials, when he had still been a younger boy, they had all promised to name their horses after animals. Well, Yennefer and a few friends of hers had done that, and Geralt had followed their example, since she was essentially an older sister to him. He chuckled. “The Mystery Monster of Rinde.” 

“Rinde?” Anica looked up to the duo. “Didn’t that town’s sorceress send us a message? I thought you hated mages, Yen.” 

A deep sigh fell from Yennefer’s lips. Anica spoke the truth. Ever since an enchanter had come to Kaer Morhen many years ago, to correct Yennefer’s spine, she had detested all sorcerers. Shoving any and all thought about that particular day aside, she cursed at herself for not thinking twice about picking a quest that didn’t involve mages. Damn her need to outdo Geralt in everything. “With some luck, I’ll only have to meet her once. Well, twice. To hear about the monster and to collect my coin.” 

~~~

Before they departed, close to the city of Roggeveen, Geralt asked what Yennefer’s suspicions about the Mystery Monster of Rinde were. They could have said goodbye a day before, but had spent a night treating themselves to good food in a decent tavern. A man had rudely demanded to know whether they were lovers or not, to which Geralt had to hold Yennefer back from breaking his neck. They had reminisced a little before resting for the night. Both of them didn’t want to see the other go, and both of them knew it was sentimental, but they were the closest thing to family that either one of them had. 

“Overgrown warg, perhaps?” Yennefer answered with a shrug. “They said it likes cattle. A chort that lost its way and wandered the distance from Velen to Rinde? Werewolf, if I’m unlucky.” 

“Unlucky?” 

“I don’t have the patience for curing cursed ones, nor for dealing with their sobbing loved ones, when they discover I’ve taken my silver blade to the beast.” 

Geralt laughed at that, a silent chuckle that was rarely heard. “At least you know that about yourself,” he said as he quirked his eyebrows. 

For how small his laugh was, Yennefer found it incredibly infectious. She couldn’t stop herself from smiling along. Yet they still had to depart. The monsters were waiting to be slain. “So long, little brother,” she said as she turned her horse away from the city in front of them. “Don’t let the seductive fish women get to you.”

* * *

_(Art by Greypaws)_


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yennefer meets the sorceress of Rinde. Their personalities immediately clash, to no one's surprise. She learns just about nothing about the Mystery Monster of Rinde.

[Greypaws](https://soundcloud.com/user-100350749) · [Still Waters, Chapter 2](https://soundcloud.com/user-100350749/still-waters-chapter-2)

_(Audio narration by Greypaws!)_

* * *

Yennefer arrived in Rinde in the late afternoon. As she slowly rode through the streets at a lazy pace, she saw the looks that were shot at her. Redenians. Wealthy, prissy cityfolk, all of them. She glared back, knowing her yellow eyes seemed to glow from underneath the hood of her black cape. With a sigh, she picked the parchment roll out of her jacket. The sorceress would meet her in the tavern at the city square. The most expensive one in the city, naturally. Yennefer just hoped that she would be out of there after a short, informative conversation, so she could sleep somewhere else. 

“Don’t touch Raven,” she warned the general public as she tied up her horse outside the inn. 

The door was frailer than she had thought. It shifted in its hinges when she threw it open. She did prefer the sturdier doors of somewhat rougher taverns, none of this fancy city stuff. Inside the tavern, early diners and patrons looked up at her with a mixture of shock and disgust strewn across their faces. Yennefer didn’t care much, she was used to worse. “Out,” she growled, stepping into the tavern. 

For the reasonable amount of people that filled the place, they fled rather quickly. Another reason why Yennefer preferred more rural taverns. People there stared and grumbed, but they didn’t almost shit themselves at the sight of her. 

“I… I do hope you’ll compensate for the loss of income tonight, lady-witcher,” a barmaid said, rushing into the kitchen before Yennefer could answer her. It didn’t matter, for the answer would have been ‘no’ regardless. 

“I will.” 

From a corner of the tavern, half hidden from view by an intricately carved wooden screen, a voice called the barmaid back. A smooth woman’s voice. Low, with a hint of a rolling accent that Yennefer had difficulty placing. 

“Didn’t you hear what I said?” she muttered, rounding the screen and staring at the back of the woman sitting there. She was small. Definitely shorter than average, with dark brown hair in a tight knot, high up on the back of her head. Her hairstyle resembled the inflection of her voice. “I said, get out,” Yennefer repeated. 

A slow hum followed. “Why, lady-witcher? You are late. Sit down, we must speak.” 

“You’re the sorceress,” Yennefer said flatly. She unclasped her cape and laid both her silver and steel swords down on the table. Then she sank down hard in the bench opposite to the smaller woman with a groan. Now that she was closer, she could taste the tang of magic on the back of her tongue. It was a taste she didn’t like much.

In the low light, the sorceress almost looked frail, her body nearly engulfed in the wooden chair. Her lips were pursed slightly, a bit pouty, exuding measured judgement. Her chin was pointed, tilted upwards a little. There was a fine crease in her brow, dark above her startlingly blue eyes. High cheekbones cut sharp shadows over the roundness of her face. Her spine was so straight that for a moment, Yennefer believed that there surely must be a stick up her ass. 

“Yes, I am the sorceress, as you so eloquently put it. Tissaia de Vries. And you are?” 

“You can call me the lady-witcher, as your city insists on doing. It’ll do,” Yennefer responded. She slung her boots onto the table, watching with hidden amusement as the tiniest twitch curled the sorceress’ mouth. 

“No,” came the measured, cold answer. “That won’t do.” 

Their eyes met. Blue and yellow, as ice and steel. Then Tissaia’s scanned over her face, pausing at the streak of white hairs on her temple. 

“Yennefer of Vengerberg. I’m here to kill your monster, not to exchange names. What do you know about it? Where is its lair?” With a sigh, Yennefer lifted her eyebrows. Tissaia’s face remained irritatingly impassive. 

They were briefly disrupted by the barmaid, who put a great number of dishes onto the table. Yennefer had trouble not perking up when she smelled oven-roasted partridge, slathered with honey and rosemary, its skin perfectly crisp. Boar ribs, cooked and slowly warmed in a hearty sauce with beer and sour berries. Freshly baked bread, steaming a little still. Salted butter, with fresh herbs mixed in. “I’ll get ale,” the barmaid hastily said. 

“No. No ale. I prefer my witchers sober,” Tissaia said. “This is on my costs, part of your reward. Choose something without alcohol.” 

Yennefer had already started disliking her commanding attitude. She was very tempted to demand ale regardless, but this _was_ a contract and she still needed Tissaia’s knowledge. “Apple juice,” she mumbled. If Tissaia found it funny, she didn’t show it on her face. 

Neither did she eat anything, when Yennefer reached for the partridge and tore off one of its wings, pulling the soft flesh from the bone with her teeth. A bit of grease ran down her chin, which she wiped with the back of her hand. Only after a large can of apple juice had been placed on the table and the barmaid had filed into the kitchen, did Tissaia speak again. 

“I suppose Vesemir could have sent me worse.” 

Yennefer narrowed her eyes over her stripped partridge wing, before chucking the bones onto the plate with the rest of the bird and grabbing a leg. “What’s that supposed to mean? If you don’t like me, I can piss off again and let this monster eat all the cattle of the town. Thanks for the free meal, in that case.” 

Tissaia simply sighed. “You won’t,” she said. However much Yennefer hated it, she was right, for she wanted the hefty bag of coin that the letter had spoken about. 

“As for your question, I am sure you’re one of the more slender witchers of the wolf school. As far as a witcher can be, of course.” 

That was either a very misplaced attempt at flirting or a badly executed insult. Either way, it did little to Yennefer. She had heard both worse and better. “If you wanted someone like Coral of the bear school, brick wall on legs, you should’ve said so.” 

“Coral was my first choice, yes,” Tissaia admitted. She only made Yennefer’s stirring anger worse, now that she knew she was only a second option. “But she informed me that she is dealing with a particularly rare, ancient and violent ice giant in Skellige, thus could spare no time to visit.” 

“No wonder I can’t stand you already,” Yennefer said around a mouthful of boar rib, which she had helped herself to while Tissaia spoke. She dipped some bread in the sauce that came with the ribs, soaking it and stuffing it into her mouth as well. “You’re friends with Coral, says enough.” 

“Friends might be an exaggeration.” With another careful purse of her lips, Tissaia averted her eyes from Yennefer’s sloppy dining. She stared into Yennefer’s cup of apple juice, still not eating or drinking anything. “The monster you are here to slay… I fear I don’t have the information you asked for. It’s rather elusive.” 

“Why didn’t you try to figure out more about it, then? You’re supposed to advise and protect this city, no?” 

“It is not where my expertise lies. I thought that task better suited to a witcher such as you. But I do know this. The people who came to me to report spoke of a great beast that descended upon them at sundown. It breaks into barns with the last hour of light, then uses the darkness as cover to bring its prey to its lair undisturbed. The farmers suspect that it has made its home on the hillside to the west of the city. They tried to follow it, but the shrubbery is wild and thorny. The ones that did manage to track it further… well, their comrades found their boots the following day, bloodied and torn.” 

Yennefer had stopped chewing as Tissaia talked, staring at the grain of the wooden table. “Doesn’t make sense,” she mumbled. “They tried to track it into dry shrubs, but it abducts cattle. It can’t carry a whole cow into the bushes without destroying them. And you said it comes at nightfall, but it attacked the farmers at day.” 

“Some think it’s a dragon,” Tissaia said, still wearing few emotions on her face.

“Bullshit, there are no dragons around here. ‘Sides, a dragon isn’t so dumb to piss of farmers. They’re smart creatures.” 

“I am aware, but the tale had already taken off before I could shut it down. Others think it’s a rampant werewolf with a vengeance against humans.” 

“Thought about that too, on the way here.” Yennefer took a long drink of her apple juice, looking at Tissaia over the rim of her cup all the while. It amazed her just how incredibly expressionless the woman was. Apart from her breaths and those unnerving blue eyes, she sat so utterly still. 

“But that doesn’t explain the attacks on the farmers at day. A werewolf would just hide.” 

“That is correct. I fear we will get no further by speaking about this monster. Which brings me to my offer, lady-witcher Yennefer. I will help you with your hunt. I can provide magical assistance, and I know the area, so I can act as your guide.” 

Yennefer waited until Tissaia was done speaking, taking another bite of the partridge and pouring herself more apple juice. Then she sighed dramatically and leaned back against the bench. “No,” she huffed, a chuckle following her crude statement. “No, I work alone.”

The crease between Tissaia’s brow deepened, and her tone which had already seemed expressionless to begin with, became even more devoid of emotion. Yennefer had never felt more detached from anyone else in her entire life, save for Vesemir, perhaps.

“Suit yourself, lady-witcher. But don’t come crawling back to me once you realise you can’t fight whatever is lurking out in those fields,” Tissaia said with a sharp edge to her voice.

She nearly choked on her apple juice at the thought, setting her cup down on the table as she leaned forward and reached for another boar rib. Before she responded, she took a bite, knowing how it seemed to unsettle the sorceress when she spoke with a mouth full of food. “Listen, I know this thing may seem scary to you, but I’ve slayed much worse than a beast who wanders around eating cattle and a few so called men during the night. Besides… ” Yennefer paused to gnaw off the rest of the meat on the bone before tossing it onto her plate with the others and wiping her mouth with the back of her hand, “I don’t crawl back to anyone.”

The sorceress scowled at Yennefer, turning her head away from her momentarily as she picked something from her teeth, looking back once she had finished. “Then what is your plan?”

“My plan? To kill it and collect my coin,” Yennefer chuckled to herself as riling up the uptight sorceress seemed to be the most entertaining part of this job thus far. She rolled her eyes as Tissaia returned a vacant look, unwilling to give her anything this time. “Fine, my plan is to take care of Raven first. It’s been a long ride, he needs to be fed and watered and I need to care for his hooves. Then I’m going to ride through the town and pick up a few supplies for myself. I’ll depart tomorrow morning to the western part of the town you mentioned, with the hill and the thorns, and begin tracking this creature.”

“Very well, Yennefer, I’ll have your money once the deed has been done.” Tissaia motioned the barmaid to the table, placing a few coins in her hand then gesturing to what was left of the meal. “This is for the food and a room for the night. Should you need more time than that, let me know.”

“Won’t be staying here tonight, I’ll save them the trouble of scaring off more guests and find my own place to stay. I’m not used to sleeping on plush feather pillows, anyhow.”

Tissaia nodded her head to the barmaid to keep the extra coin, then stood and smoothed her hands over a dress which had nary a wrinkle on it. Yennefer called out to her as she turned sharply to leave, noting that the sorceress appeared taller than she was as she stood with her back stiff as a board. “You didn’t eat a thing.”

“I don’t have much of an appetite,” she replied as she looked to Yennefer’s dirty hands, then to her yellow eyes before turning and walking away, hands clasped together.

“Suit yourself,” Yennefer shrugged as she reached for another piece of bread, tearing off a chunk which she popped into her mouth. She savored the freshness of it for a few moments, making sure no one could tell just how much she was actually enjoying the taste of food with flavor.

Once she had finished with her meal, she left the stuffy establishment behind. Raven nuzzled his nose into her palm as she held her hand up to his face. “Don’t worry, we aren’t staying here tonight. I’ll find us somewhere more acceptable to stay and get you fed and taken care of. What? Haven’t you ever seen someone talk to their horse before?” She questioned as she drew odd looks from a few people passing by, knowing it was more likely they had never seen a witcher as opposed to a person having a conversation with their horse.

After she had brought Raven to the stables and taken care of him, she headed into town stopping at several street vendors and refreshing some of her supplies. Taking note of how overpriced their empty vials were, she purchased none just on principle alone. She would make due with the potions she had on hand until she found supplies to make more at a reasonable price.

Yennefer wandered into the seedy part of town. All towns had them, the places where people were forgotten about and ignored. Those were the places she wanted to be, far away from the prying eyes of the rich cityfolk who had never seen a yellow eyed witcher before. Her ears perked up at the sound of a tavern brawl some distance away from her, relieved she had found a place to stay for the night. 

She shoved open the door to the tavern, smirking as it’s sturdy build kept it from flying off its hinges at her enhanced strength. She made her way to the bar, resting her elbow on it’s oaken surface, marred by one too many attempts of drunks playing games with their knives and trying to stab in between their own fingers without injury. There seemed to be some dried blood left behind from a failed attempt.

“What’s yer fancy?” The bartender asked her as she slid a mug of ale to a patron who probably didn’t need another, judging by the way he leaned against his friend while speaking.

“Just a room for the night,” she said as she dropped a coin on the bar, slapping it down with her hand as it tried to roll away.

The woman picked up the coin and inspected it thoroughly, the corners of her eyes wrinkled as she squinted to make out the marks on the coin. Once she had established that it wasn’t a counterfeit, she nodded her head and hustled off. “I’ll get a key.”

“I heard it ate two men whole, left nothing but their bloody feet still in their boots,” the man to her side said to his friend as he swayed dangerously close to her.

“That’s nonsense, it’s not that big. The last cow it killed, it didn’t even eat the entire thing.” The other man returned, taking a swig of his ale.

“Still, I wouldn’t want to come across it.”

“That’s because you’re a chicken shit.” His friend laughed as he shoved him, paying no mind to Yennefer as she glared at them both when he was pushed into her. “Apologies, my… lady,” he uttered before returning to his conversation. “I’m more afraid of the bears out there. A full grown bear would have eaten the entire cow.”

Yennefer rolled her eyes, somewhat annoyed that this mission may not even be a challenge to her at all. She was relieved when the bartender returned with the key to her room, pointing to the stairs and indicating it was the last room on the right at the end of the hall. And even more relieved when she was able to kick off her boots, remove her swords and flop down on a hard mattress which only had one lumpy pillow. It was much more comfortable than spending a night on the ground, and much more comfortable than sleeping in a stuffy inn. 

She drifted off to thoughts of some of the more challenging monsters she had killed over the years, hoping this would be one to add to the list.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Does anyone have a guess for what the monster is?


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yennefer fights the Mystery Monster of Rinde...  
> She should really have taken up on Tissaia's offer.

[Greypaws](https://soundcloud.com/user-100350749) · [Still Waters Chapter 3](https://soundcloud.com/user-100350749/still-waters-chapter-3)

_(Audio narration by Greypaws!)_

* * *

The road was quiet in the morning. No one was staring at her and no one made vulgar comments. Yennefer sighed contently as she walked down the trodden road that led out of Rinde. The stuffy town had annoyed her from the moment that she had set foot into the tavern. And then she wasn’t even thinking about the tiny sorceress with the stick up her ass. 

Just before where Tissaia had told her the farmers had vanished after trying to track it down, she adjusted her swords on her back, drawing the steel one as a precaution. Then, she turned away from the road and started into the bushes. The ground curved gently, a precursor to the hill that she could see further ahead. Slowly, she followed the footsteps that the group of farmers had left behind in the loose earth. 

The entire town spoke about this monster killing cattle, yet she saw no signs of a large animal having been dragged through the dry bushes. It still puzzled Yennefer. The area was hilly, but there were no true mountains, thus it wasn’t griffin territory. The other flying creature that Yennefer briefly thought of was a wyvern, but she hadn’t heard of any being spotted in the area. Besides, they were too large to go unnoticed. 

For an hour, Yennefer followed the tracks without anything eventful happening. The sun slowly rose, bathing the dry shrubbery in reds and oranges. Just as Yennefer considered sheathing her sword, she spotted a clearing amongst the bushes. Halting along the edge of it, she scanned the area for any sign of movement, finding none but the wind. 

Scrapes littered the sandy ground. Signs of a fight of sorts, but by the looks of it, it couldn’t have lasted long. Footsteps faded mid-step, their deep impression indicating a great hurry. A low tree on the other side of the clearing was bent, partially broken and splintered. Yennefer approached it, eyeing a smear of a rusty substance on the wood. Blood. Human blood, as she smelled when she brushed her gloved hand through it and brought it to her nose. Old, a few days at least. This was likely where the farmers had died, after their encounter with… something. The Mystery Monster of Rinde. 

Yennefer looked between where most of the footsteps ended and the tree where she stood next to. She tried to picture what had happened. The farmers had ran through the loose earth, perhaps pursued by the monster. Then one of them had been smashed into the tree, perhaps already injured. After searching further, she found a deep impression in the earth and a few broken bones. Scavenging animals had already made short work of what had remained of the farmers. 

Again, she looked to the sky for answers. Even with all of her enhanced senses, she couldn’t spy anything that would give her a clue as to what happened. It _had_ to have been some kind of flying creature, since there was no damage to the surrounding area except for the clearing where the fight had taken place. 

Perhaps she was up against a number of harpies. With a sigh, Yennefer climbed up the broken tree, balancing herself and using the higher viewpoint to assess her surroundings. There was one thing that stood out to her. An impression of something large, in the shrubbery of the hillside. 

When she had walked up to it, it did nothing but make her more confused. She was starting to believe the stories of the townsfolk about a dragon, however ridiculous they might sound. Clearly, something had slept in the impression between the plants. Something large. If it was a dragon, Yennefer was grossly unprepared, she surmised as she began to walk further up the hillside. There was a rocky area, where the bare stones prevented any rain from fertilizing the ground. Besides a few mangled, dry trees, nothing grew there. 

Yennefer heard the sounds before she saw anything. Scratching and shuffling, scraping over the bare rocks. She kneeled down, inching closer until she could see just around the corner of a rock wall. Between the eroded spires and uneven, jagged boulders, she saw a large shape move around. The stench of rotten meat and the shit of a carnivore reached her nostrils. It wasn’t enough to make the witcher pause, but she hated it nonetheless. She peeked around the corner again, grasping the hilt of her sword a little bit more tightly. 

Since her trials, Yennefer had fought many different monsters. Her first hunt had been a successful removal of a nekker colony, alongside Anica and Doralis. She had hunted down a manticore with Geralt shortly after his own trials. Yet this creature nearly topped her list of what she had faced. 

A forktail. A big one, too.

It had a long, healthy tail, fattened from eating all the cattle, easy prey as it was. The poisonous barbs on the end of it were, as its name suggested, protruding at an angle. Its claws were long, dark and curved, each looking sharp enough to slice her in half. Even though it was classified as a lesser draconid, Yennefer felt like it deserved a grander title. The horn and fleshy frill on its head looked a bit roughened, indicating the age of the creature. Unlike its larger cousin the dragon, it had two legs and two wings, making its gait uneven on the ground.

Briefly, Yennefer was in awe. Until the forktail flapped its leathery wings and took to the skies in the blink of an eye. She shrunk back behind the rock, waiting until it had passed. With one hand, she picked a small flask with the golden oriole potion from her belt. If she got injured by the beast’s tail, it would protect her from its lethal poison. Just when she wanted to hop down into the space between the rocks where it had been pacing around, to await its return, she saw something that made her pause. 

There was an overhanging ledge on the far side of the rocks. At first, it looked as if the beast had sheltered there, because the sparse bits of sandy ground around it were covered with scratch marks. Then, Yennefer spotted a few thin, fragmented, yellow-brown objects. Egg shells. A pitchfork in the corner of the nest and a few blackened bones confirmed her rising suspicions. The farmers had found the nest and destroyed the eggs. They had enraged the creature, and now it was wreaking havoc on the ones who had taken away its offspring. That was likely why it slept on the hillside, and not between the wrecked remains of its eggs. 

Yennefer wanted to curse. If she had come to Rinde earlier, or if that sorceress had taken the effort to discover more about the creature that was plaguing her town, she could perhaps have prevented the disaster. A firm talk with the sorceress would be in order, but first she still had to dispatch the angry draconid. 

With a sigh, the lady-witcher walked to the edge of the demolished nest and took her steel sword firmly in her hand. She wished she had taken her crossbow along, since waiting for the beast to come down to the earth would prove more dangerous than shooting it out of the sky. Then again, she hadn’t chosen the life of a witcher for nothing. Yennefer popped the cork off her vial with antidote, scanning the surrounding area as she put it to her lips. 

An unearthly shriek sounded behind her. Yennefer whirled around as she heard the heavy rush of the forktail’s wings. She ducked, rolling out of the way of its barbed tail. The vial with golden oriole was flung from her hand, shattering against the dry stones. Yennefer cursed and sprung to her feet, but the monster was fast for its size and attacked again. 

This time, she couldn’t dodge both the claws on its feet and the tail. It hit her in the shoulder, which already felt as if a grown bull had charged her. She was thrown across the lair, struggling to her feet and shaking her head to rid herself of the daze. At least she had been able to hold onto her sword. 

She was unusually sluggish when she got up. A blur crept up in the edges of her vision. Yennefer felt along her upper arm, where the tail had struck her. There was blood on her glove when she cast a look at her fingers. Her yellow eyes went from the scarlet to the shattered vial of antidote. She swayed. “ _Fuck_ ,” she muttered, already feeling the warmth of the poison in her veins. 

The forktail landed in front of its demolished nest and roared. The stench of its putrid breath was nearly enough to knock her to her feet once again. Even through the fog of the poison, she could see it’s hooked teeth, stained and decaying from years of ripping into flesh whether it was living or not. It lowered its massive head and charged at her. On ground, forktails were sluggish, but it didn’t keep them from using their substantial size to their advantage. Yennefer met its horn with her sword, using her own enhanced strength and agility to first parry the incoming blow, then duck once it lashed out at her again with it’s spiked tail.

“Not falling for that again,” she slurred as the heat rose in her cheeks. She swore at herself for being not only careless enough to drop the only vial of golden oriole she had, but for being too cheap to purchase the supplies in town to craft another.

A deep growl resinated from the beast’s throat as it circled her. The growl continued even after the creature had exhausted it’s breath and began to inhale. It’s eyes, red and yellow with a black slit for a pupil, locked onto her.

“Go on, make your move,” Yennefer taunted her opponent as she unsheathed the small dagger she had carried with her since before she could even remember. It’s bone handle wrapped in worn leather felt like home and she quickly flashed the blade of her silver sword under the light of the clouded sun, drawing it’s attention away from the sturdy dagger in her left hand.

The elder forktail responded, emitting a rumbling noise from it’s chest before it broke into a sprint and barreled towards her at top speed. Just before it reached her, it veered to and extended a wing, intending to strike with a sharpened dewclaw.

Yennefer brought her silver sword upwards and deflected the wing strike, drawing it’s sharp edge along the meat of the flesh between the bones. Simultaneously, she plunged the dagger deep within the monster’s neck. The warmth of it’s blood spilled over her hand before it twisted away angrily and shot up into the sky.

A sky which blurred as she tried to focus on the monster which she could no longer see. Her head pounded and she looked to the ground which was decorated in blood mixed with earth churned up by her opponent’s claws. Suddenly, an insurmountable amount of force descended upon her, far too quick to dodge in her worsening state. She felt a burning sensation across her chest and found herself on her back, looking up at a creature who was in severe pain. It had lost its clutch of eggs, it was being hunted relentlessly by the townsfolk, and it was now bleeding out and dying by her hand.

Yennefer knew just how desperate a creature like that could become. Just as it lifted its tail to strike her down, she drove both her sword and her dagger deep into its body. Then, she crawled away as it staggered, listening to the choking gurgles which escaped its throat before it fell to the ground and panted. It’s breaths became shorter and shorter until finally, Yennefer could no longer hear them at all.

Her shaky legs finally gave way and she fell face first into the ground. The sword had slipped from her hand at some point but the dagger was still in her fist. She pushed herself up and rolled onto her back, the poison from the forktail now coursing through every vein in her body.

“Fuck,” she uttered as she clutched her chest. Lifting her head was hard, but she had to assess the damage. Three slashes ran over her chest, having effortlessly torn through her leather armour. Blood sluggishly ran over her skin, soiling the sand beneath her. Her fingers felt numb and the dagger slipped from her grasp as she blinked towards the sky a few times. A shadow seemed to obscure her vision of the sun. Perhaps the forktail was there to finish the job.

“Fuck you…” she added as she squinted through a light which was more than enough to feel blinding. There was a warm hand on her cheek and a voice calling her name. It seemed both familiar and demanding.

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_(Art by Greypaws!)_


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yennefer gets patched up, Tissaia definitely isn't super concerned for her and witchers definitely don't have emotions.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ALL CHAPTERS NOW HAVE AUDIO NARRATION! 
> 
> This is something Greypaws has been working on for a while now. She's super good at narrating our story and I highly recommend checking it out. The narration is embedded as a soundcloud link at the start of every chapter.

[Greypaws](https://soundcloud.com/user-100350749) · [Still Waters Chapter 4](https://soundcloud.com/user-100350749/still-waters-chapter-4)

_ (Audio narration by Greypaws!) _

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Yennefer’s eyes drifted open just enough to see a shadowy figure moving before her. Instinctually, she tried to reach for her sword but her hand felt heavy, too heavy to lift. The figure left her field of vision, she tried to follow it with her eyes but couldn’t. Panic rose in her chest as she tried again to move her leg, then her foot. Nothing worked. Her skin felt numb and the sensation of falling suddenly overtook her. The scream which she felt welling up in her chest remained in her mind, echoing throughout her head as her vision faded.

For a second time, her eyes drifted open and her head had fallen to the side. The figure lurked in the distance, hunched over something. She could hear the grinding of herbs and could smell something burning, like coal in a fire. Her arm was sluggish and her body still felt numb. There was a stinging pain in her chest as she tried to roll out of the bed she was in, her arm dangled off the side and she reached for the floor. It was mere inches from her grasp when suddenly she found herself staring at the figure in the distance again, realizing she hadn’t moved at all.

The scream in her head soon became ten, each one different. She remembered them all. The way they had cried out in agony, the way they clutched at their throats when their insides had become raw and blood spilled from their lips. The pain which coursed through her body, shaping her and changing her, never left her memory. It had brought her to the brink of death as it ate into her bones and muscle and tore at her mind. She remembered how ten of them were tested, but only four of them survived. Eventually, the four screams faded to black, with the memory.

Again, her eyes opened. The figure was closer this time, just next to her. Yennefer tried to focus on the blurred mass before her. She could make out dark hair as warm hands carefully unwrapped bandages from her chest. A pained groan escaped her as dried blood from the linen cloth had bonded to her skin, and stung when it was pulled away. The figure leaned in and her sight adjusted well enough to make out a face.

It was Tissaia, and she was just as expressionless as the day they had first met. She dipped a cloth into a bowl of water and wrung it out. Yennefer could see the familiar tint of crimson in the bowl and winced when Tissaia pressed the cloth to her chest. Weakly, she lifted her head and strained her neck to look at the injury as Tissaia cared for it. Her shirt was half unbuttoned, just enough for the sorceress to change the bandages.

“ _ Hmm _ , that’s going to leave a scar,” Yennefer said as her head fell backwards onto the pillow. 

Tissaia raised a brow slightly as she moved away from the three deep injuries on Yennefer’s chest. She continued to gently clean the marred puncture wounds from the forktail’s barb, on her upper arm. “You shouldn’t worry, your scars heal quite nicely. Your will to live is strong. Although your will to get yourself killed seems to be equally as strong, otherwise you would have accepted my help and you wouldn’t be here now.”

“Where exactly is  _ here _ ?” Yennefer inquired as she tried to sit up.

Tissaia frowned at her then adjusted the pillows under her so she could sit slightly more upright. “We are in my home, in Rinde. I followed you out to the farmland, knowing you would run into trouble with that beast. It’s killed many able bodied men and women, not just farmers. I knew you would underestimate it based on your attitude alone.”

“So you followed me out there, watched me get hurt, and then what, you hoisted me up and carried me back?” Yennefer chuckled, coughing slightly as pain shot through her ribcage.

“Don’t be absurd, you seem to weigh nearly as much as the forktail. I had a nearby farmer help load you up in a wagon and bring you back here so I could treat your injuries and give you something for the poison before it was too late. Now, sit up.” Tissaia demanded as she continued with her task, wrapping clean bandages around her neck and under her arm a few times until it was enough to cover the near fatal injury.

“How long have I been here?”

“Several days. I administered an antidote for the poison. It has unpleasant side effects, sleep paralysis being one of them. The only reason you survived at all was due to your extremely slow pulse. It didn’t have a chance to run throughout your entire body.” Tissaia said, looking away when Yennefer shifted and part of her loose shirt opened up.

“Several days?” Yennefer said as she made an attempt to get up and leave, being stopped by a hand which had no right to be so soft. “I’ll take my coin now, I need to get back to my horse.”

“You kept repeating names. Six of them, over and over.” The sorceress ignored her request and washed her hands in a clean bowl of water.

“My coin,” Yennefer growled. The last thing she wanted to discuss with Tissaia was the fragmented memories of her trials.

“So that’s all life is to you, monsters and money.” Tissaia said as she turned and folded her arms across her chest, staring down at her judgmentally.

“That’s all it needs to be.” Yennefer kicked her legs free of the blanket and slung them over the edge of the bed with some difficulty. The slashes over her chest stung with every breath, but she had to get out of the sorceress’ house. It felt as if the air was choking her, thick with the smells of medicinal herbs. She glared at Tissaia again, only taking note of the observant look in her eyes. 

Wordlessly, the sorceress turned to a table behind her and grabbed a large, black leather pouch. It was more akin to a bag than a pouch, having a belt to be looped around the shoulder attached to it. 

“Stop looking at me like I’m some fascinating rare creature,” Yennefer said through gritted teeth as she stood. “And where the fuck are my boots?” 

“There. I cleaned them as well as I could, with spells.” Tissaia nodded to a corner of the room, where the witcher’s boots indeed stood. “As for your insinuation… Your kind, witchers, are blessed by magic. I was merely assessing the results of it.” 

Yennefer locked her eyes onto Tissaia’s, walking up to her in two steps. She was at least half a head taller than the woman, even without boots. As she glared at her, she said: “I’d hardly say we’re blessed.” 

“You were created by magic. Our magic,” the sorceress responded, holding the yellow eyed gaze without effort. She dragged the bag with coins over the table, an inch, so the contents tinkled against each other. 

“Thanks, made for a magical childhood.” Yennefer gave up on trying to intimidate the icy mage with her physical stature. She slowly walked to her boots, sitting down with her back against the wall as she began to put them on. The room spun ever so slightly, and sweat broke out on her brow. 

To distract herself from the nagging feeling that she wasn’t fit enough to leave the house quite yet, she looked around in the room. It wasn’t a true bedroom, since there was no closet and no dresser either. There was a window on the far side, closed with curtains. It seemed to be Tissaia’s medical room of sorts, if the collection of potions and herbs displayed on the table and in the wall cabinets was anything to go by. Yennefer briefly wondered if she aided the people of Rinde with many ailments. 

"Your spine... it was corrected with magic, a long time ago. I felt the residual effects,” Tissaia said as she raised an eyebrow at the way Yennefer swayed when she stood and buttoned her shirt all the way. Her tone was still flat, but the witcher didn’t miss the hint of curiosity in her eyes. 

“Some slimy man from Aretuza did that. Said the standard herbs wouldn't be necessary with my improved physique.” Yennefer looked up and down Tissaia’s form. “They don’t do that to you soft mages, do they? Do you even know what they do to girls in Aretuza?” 

Tissaia nodded almost imperceptibly, but Yennefer continued regardless: “They tear out what’s dearest to a woman. I saw him grind it before my very eyes, all so I could train with the rest and wouldn’t die within the year.” 

Anger rose, hot in her chest. Tissaia’s impassive face only worsened it. 

“What was it for you? Clubbed foot? Split ends? Did they make your nose more pointy? Or did they try to make you taller?" 

Tissaia bit her lip. Yennefer felt her eyes on her as she stumbled to the bedside table to retrieve her tunic. 

“You chose for the life of a witcher, Yennefer of Vengerberg,” the sorceress said. “Be glad that they were so courteous to have your ailments mended. They could have thrown you to your fellow wolves and let the training destroy you, instead.” 

There were times, especially just after the trials, when she had wondered if that would have been better. She had long since shaken those thoughts from her head in order to continue on with her life, but it irked her that the sorceress seemed to know just how to get beneath her skin. It bothered her even more recalling how warm Tissaia’s hands felt against her as she had tended to her wounds. Something she would tend to herself from now on, she determined as she slipped into her tunic.

“Yes, please remind me of how my life works,” Yennefer said as she held back a pained look. The movement had sent a sudden jolt of agony shooting through her chest and seemed to follow the course of her veins. No doubt a lingering effect of the forktail poison. A throbbing sensation remained as she scanned the room for her swords.

“They are hanging up next to the front door, I’m not sure if you are aware of just how badly some of these monsters you slay smell, but I wasn’t going to be bombarded by the stench of forktail blood as I was treating you.” Tissaia furrowed her brow as she said it, knowing Yennefer had more than likely become used to the foul odours which she dragged behind her.

Yennefer stood, feeling slightly dizzy for a few seconds before navigating her way to what she hoped would be the exit. Tissaia stopped her with a stern voice, “That’s the bathroom, which you are free to use, but I’m judging that isn’t what you were looking for.”

She smirked as she turned to the other door in the room, pausing to remove a few coins from the satchel she had just earned. Tissaia simply stood, her expression like stone as she folded her hands together, making no effort to accept the payment.

Yennefer rolled her eyes. “It’s for the cost of the herbs you used to, you know, save my life. And for the days you kept me alive. I certainly don’t want anyone fussing over me for days at a time without being compensated.”

“I don’t want your money. I hired you to do a job and you completed the job. That is your coin whether I treated you or not, I cannot accept it.”

“Fine, suit yourself. I’ll be on my way then.” She continued walking even as Tissaia called out to her.

“You can pretend you can’t feel anything, that the pain isn’t there. You can’t run and hide from yourself forever.” Tissaia found herself speaking alone in an empty room but knew Yennefer had heard her. She sighed as she began to clean the room, collecting the soiled bandages and putting away the herbs she had used to care for Yennefer over the past few days. During the magical examination, she had felt a deep wound within the Witcher. It had caused her to shudder as she grazed over it with a spell, feeling a defensive bite back. Whatever it was, Yennefer was protecting it for a reason, so she left it be.

~~~

Yennefer shielded her face from the sunbeam which shone through the ratty curtains in another cheap inn she had found somewhere in Rinde. While her intention had initially been to get as far away from this forsaken city as possible, she also figured a day of rest could do her some good before traveling again. With her accelerated healing, and Tissaia’s extra care, it wouldn’t be too long before the injury was nothing but a scar to remind her.

Her memory of leaving Tissaia’s residence was still foggy, though she recalled feeling relieved to have walked outside to the sight of Raven grazing on the grasses in the sorceress’ yard. She recalled gripping the reins tightly as she steered herself towards the direction of the town, and recalled nearly dunking her entire head into a trough filled with water in order to quench the thirst she felt. Fortunately, she had stumbled across this inn where she could rest and look after her own wounds.

Yennefer winced as she sat up from the bedroll she had unceremoniously dumped herself on last night, only bothering to take off her left boot before she did so. Dust particles drifted through the ray of sunlight and for a moment, Yennefer found herself questioning her decision to leave Tissaia’s much more sterile room behind, only to recover in this dive. She hoped she had only been sleeping for one night as the thought of paying anything at all to stay here nearly made her stomach cramp.

“They should be paying me to stay here,” she muttered under her breath.

She shook her head to clear her thoughts and unbuttoned her shirt, removing it to check the bandages Tissaia had applied just before she left. There was a fair amount of blood which had soaked through them, but it no longer appeared to be bleeding as much. Once she had unwrapped the linens and tossed them to the side of the bedroll, she examined the wound. 

Three long, deep scratches, carving from her left shoulder downwards. The middle one had cut a little into the flesh of her right breast, while the rightmost one had barely missed slicing open her neck. Yennefer hissed as she touched along the damage. She’d been lucky. She loathed to admit it, but it was the truth. A claw to the neck, an inch further upwards than where it had struck, would have killed her, slower blood flow or not. 

A shiver involuntarily crept along her spine. Once again, she felt dizziness and the telltale ache of a migraine in her skull. She knew deep down that it hadn’t been wise to leave Tissaia’s house, but the sorceress unnerved her. Even Geralt couldn’t get under her skin like that, and he knew more about her than Tissaia. 

When she closed her eyes and rubbed over her temples, she saw the sorceress’ icy eyes again. So cold and impassive, as opposed to the care with which she had treated her wounds. With a sigh, she stood up from the bed and shook the thought from her mind. She didn’t need anyone’s care, she didn’t need to be pampered and the last thing she wanted was for someone to need her in return. Surprising and disgusting herself with that particular thought, she knelt down by her pack. 

It looked fuller than when she had left it in the inn before her hunt. Frowning, Yennefer opened it. Immediately, she was hit with a large linen sack that had been placed on top of her usual travelling things. She opened it, finding a collection of clean bandages, a bundle of rags to clean the wounds, a few satchels of herbs and a trio of objects wrapped in straw. The last items revealed themselves to be potions, four vials per bundle. Yennefer sighed, because it seemed as if she wasn’t rid of the sorceress yet. She found a folded letter amongst her things and opened it. The handwriting was so neat that it could only be from one person. 

She scanned over the letter quickly. Most of it was instructions on how to prepare the herbs, make them into compresses and apply them to the wounds. Then Tissaia described that she needed to take one of each potion a day, for four consecutive days. 

Yennefer opened a vial and inhaled the smell. Her enhanced senses were met with a cloying, sweet smell that almost made her gag. She knew what it was. White honey, a potion that stimulated her body to purify whatever poison was in her veins. It was specifically made for witchers, and she hated it thusly. One of the others she recognized by its light blue hue as Swallow, a potion that would help her wounds regenerate. The final one was called Kiss, according to Tissaia’s letter, for staunching the blood that still dripped from her wounds every now and then. Forktail venom was a difficult thing to treat. 

Steeling herself, Yennefer swallowed the potions one after another. As soon as she stood up, she felt the telltale sickness that came with drinking a large amount of potions. She stumbled to the bed and laid down, silently cursing Tissaia and all her sorcerer kin. 

Carefully, she touched along the wounds before reapplying the bandages. Sleep was swiftly creeping up on her, the heaviness of potions and herbs settling in her body. Again, she rubbed with the pad of her thumb along the wraps of linen around her torso. No matter how soft she attempted to make her touch, it was never quite like how Tissaia’s had felt. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading!


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yennefer doesn't always need Tissaia's help. Tissaia doesn't need Yennefer on their mind. Why do both these things happen then?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note: there's a few months between this encounter and the previous one. We're going sort of along with events in canon here.

[Greypaws](https://soundcloud.com/user-100350749) · [SW Chapter 5](https://soundcloud.com/user-100350749/sw-chapter-5)

_(Audio narration by Greypaws!)_

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_(Art by Torch, link to their tumblr in the notes!)_

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It seemed as if Yennefer couldn’t escape Redania. After recuperating for a month at Kaer Morhen, avoiding questions by everyone from Vesemir to Doralis, she found herself in a small village bordering the Nimnar river. In Kaer Morhen, she hadn’t seen Geralt, which she found strange. After all, even an extra kikimora contract in Blaviken couldn’t have been enough to hold him back so much. Yennefer didn’t want to worry about him, since she knew very well that he was an experienced witcher in his own right. Yet still, the thought that something so grave had happened that it had slowed him down so much, bothered her more than she wanted to admit. 

However, all that was on her mind at the current moment was listening to a farmer as he explained the situation. There was no mystery monster this time. He said that the villagers had been plagued by drowners which had made the roads unsafe. The slimy, foul creatures had become so bold that they started to attack travellers at day. 

“Sounds like there’s a nest somewhere upstream,” Yennefer said, nodding in the direction where the peacefully rushing water came from. “I’ll root it out for you, should get rid of them.” 

As the man nodded avidly, he handed her a sack with coin. “I have no doubt, lady-witcher. I heard how you slew the forktail in Rinde, you must be a mighty good fighter.”

Usually her response would follow immediately with an exceptionally cocky and self assured statement, but her jaw tightened at the thought of just how close she had come to perishing, so she took a steady breath and paused.

“I’ve slain much larger forktails in my sleep, t’was hardly a challenge,” she said as she pulled herself into the saddle and tightened her grip on the reins. Raven snorted and she dug her heel into his side, ushering him to move in the direction of the nest.

Once she had put enough distance between herself and the man, she leaned forward in the saddle, watching as Raven’s ears flicked then rotated back slightly. “Yes, yes, I know it wasn’t true but I can’t let word get out about that. Coral would never let me hear the end of it.”

The horse neighed back in response as she continued to follow alongside the river. It was peaceful, the sounds of the water rushing gently along, the winds in the grass and the birds in the trees. Yennefer huffed to herself, knowing it was nothing more than an illusion of peace. One she would help the local villagers maintain, once she had located the drowner nest in question and sliced them open until slime spilled from their ears.

There were many theories as to what the hideous creatures which hid deep in the waters actually were. Most thought they were the souls of drowned men who had become restless and rose from the waters to plague the living. While Yennefer had her doubts, it mattered little to her in the end. They were vile and disgusting creatures which would gladly consume the flesh of unsuspecting victims, leaving nothing but a gory mess of shredded skin and bones behind.

She continued to follow along the river as dusk approached, it began to widen and Yennefer took note of the messy riverbank. Areas of broken reeds and marred soil mixed with strings of deep river sludge was a good indication that something had dragged itself from the water. Several sets of dried prints in the earth led towards the road which ran parallel to the river. There was a putrid odour lingering in the air, and Yennefer noticed several bones strewn about, all from various creatures and all in different states of decay.

She dismounted, then led Raven away from the river, unwilling to risk putting him in danger should the nest be larger than she had anticipated. The sharp sound of her tempered blade rang through the air as she reached over her shoulder and pulled it from its sheath, the final vestiges of sunbeams reflecting off its silver edge.

Cautiously, she approached the water, her eyes glossing over anything which wasn’t a ripple caused by the river’s current. She allowed the heaviness of her boots to sound as she walked, stepping on twigs and branches along the way. A flat stone with rounded edges caught her eye and she leaned down to pick it up, then flung it at an angle parallel to the water’s surface, watching with great satisfaction as it skipped across the water’s surface, until it disappeared in the brush on the other side.

The tip of her sword caused ripples in the water as she dipped it in, then splashed it around, knowing it most likely wasn’t necessary at this point, for she had made more than enough noise to attract any drowner within the area. It was always somewhat entertaining to rile up the drowners, however.

Slowly, a shape rose from the water near the river’s edge. Even in the low light of the moon, Yennefer could make out the features of its hideous face. Bulbous eyes with lids that blinked sideways and mottled green-grey skin which was covered in slime. It stood tall. Its elongated arms were boney with sharp claws at the end of it’s webbed fingers and it had a ridge of spikes running down the length of its spine.

It’s pace quickened as it neared the shore, two other drowners emerged from the water, following closely to the first one. Yennefer fanned her face, trying to disperse some of the stench which accompanied the monsters, a byproduct of their slime coat, no doubt.

She drew her sword back and centered her stance, preparing to strike with her blade from one hand and cast Igni with the other. A smirk curled at the edge of her lips as she cast the sign and watched the drowner writhing in pain as it became engulfed in flames. She slashed at it’s limbs, as it continued to advance, only stopping once she had nearly severed it’s head.

“Not much of a nest, who’s next?” she said as copious amounts of slime dripped from her blade. As the two remaining drowners encroached on her personal space, she looked through the flames and noticed a ripple in the water, followed by another.

Several more sets of glowing eyes emerged from the water and she knew she had miscalculated the size of the nest.

“Fuck…” 

_(Art by Greypaws!)_

~~~

The market was busier than usual, Tissaia thought to herself as she pushed through crowded streets, making her way to her preferred vendors. She had learned to be selective when it came to buying goods from the street shops as she wasn’t interested in purchasing overpriced wares from shady dealers. While some price fluctuation was normal, based off of supply and demand, it seemed the cost of even the most common goods had nearly doubled over the last few weeks.

“Two coin? I’m not paying two coin for that rotting sack of potatoes,” a man grumbled as he stormed past her, nearly colliding with an elderly woman behind her. Tissaia frowned as she approached the vendor he had just left.

Her eyes wandered to the potatoes. While rotten was an over exaggeration, she did notice several sprouts beginning to shoot from the eyes. She furrowed her brow as she scanned for the goods she _did_ have on her list. While potatoes weren’t what she had intended on purchasing with this trip, the shortage of quality products was odd.

“I was under the impression that the harvest was plentiful this year,” she hummed as she picked up a few bruised fruits which had wormholes in them. The shade from the canopy above the market stalls shielded her eyes from the late afternoon sun as she laid them down. Then, she inspected a small shallot, placing it back down once she noticed how moldy and soft it was.

“The harvest was plentiful, it’s getting it into town that’s the problem,” the vendor said as she continued to count coin, glancing up once she was done. “Tissaia, haven’t seen you for a while, what’re you looking for? Can’t say I’ll have it, though.”

“Just a few things to eat and some medicinal herbs. About seven weeks ago I treated someone with extensive injuries. Then a few more people since. It's about time to restock my supplies.”

The woman hummed as she slid her hand across the table, dumping the coins in a satchel before standing and making her way to the back of the tent. She thumbed through the few pouches of dried herbs she had, shaking her head as she turned back to Tissaia. “I’m ‘fraid I don’t have any of your usual supplies. Everything has been so damn hard to come by since those drowners have been killing travellers along the roads, including some of my best suppliers.”

Tissaia sighed. Not _another_ monster issue.

The woman pulled a few vials from a small chest and set them on the table in front of Tissaia. “I do have a few health potions, if you want. I would usually price them at double, but for you I’ll sell them the same.”

“Alright, I’ll take those. I’ll pass on the food for now. I have enough reserves to last another week, perhaps two.” Tissaia opened her bag and retrieved a few coins from a pouch, placing an extra one on the table as well.

The woman nodded at her in appreciation. “Hopefully it won’t be too much longer, I’ve heard several of the townsfolk talking about a witcher who’s been hired to take care of the problem. Heard something about it being a lady-witcher, said she’s heading up the mountain to rid us of the slimy pests.” 

Tissaia’s eyes widened and she froze momentarily. “And this lady-witcher, have you by chance heard her name? Or what she looks like?”

The woman shook her head no. “I’m not even sure if I trust the rumours, if I’m being honest. You know how the townsfolk love to gossip. It doesn’t take much for something to spread through Rinde like wildfire.”

At that, Tissaia offered a dry smile and said her thanks before making a hasty retreat back towards her residence. She gathered what little medical supplies she had left, including the health potions she had just purchased and stuffed them into her travel bag. As she changed into something much more suitable for the outdoors, she tried to reason with herself.

Yennefer was a witcher, a very smug and obnoxious witcher, but aside from the forktail her credentials were practically flawless. If it was Yennefer who had taken on this contract, certainly she was capable of handling herself.

Had she known it was Coral who had taken the contract, her worries would have been lessened. The Skelligan was also very smug and obnoxious, but she was also nearly twice the size of the wolf school witcher, and much more knowledgeable about the area and the threats which inhabited it. Aside from that, Coral usually stopped for a visit when she was in town, having known each other from the past. Tissaia had been a young sorceress gaining experience in the field by completing tasks in Skellige many years ago, which was when she first met the fiery haired woman.

Once having shouldered her pack, she cast a portal to the village that bordered on the trade route in question. The air of the countryside was a welcome reprieve from Rinde, and Tissaia found herself inhaling deeply before setting off to a nearby farm. She asked around if the people had seen the lady-witcher. 

Soon, she heard that the witcher indeed was from the wolf school, had black hair and a most arrogant smirk when she’d set off in the direction of the drowner nest upstream. Tissaia quickly began to walk in the same direction. In her head, she went through the possible scenarios that she could arrive to. 

A critically injured Yennefer, just like the last time she had followed the woman. This was the reason why she’d set off to the village in the first place. At least, she tried to tell herself that it was just to preserve the life of a good monster hunter, not out of any kind of personal concern that had to do with how recklessly the woman handled herself. Drowners were nasty creatures. The wounds they inflicted were often jagged gashes in the flesh, which were hard to treat. Their claws and skin were also brimming with unsanitary things from the mud they inhabited, which could cause lethal infections and fever. 

Worry crept up in Tissaia’s throat, though she kept her face neutral. Then, she saw a flickering fire in the distance and increased her pace. The flames came closer and closer, until she was able to make out a small encampment in the brush by the riverside. And next to the merrily dancing flames sat a black silhouette. Yennefer. 

The witcher looked up when she heard Tissaia approach through the shrubbery. She first frowned, then a wide, obnoxious smile slowly appeared on her face. “Tissaia!” she called out. “Come to mother over me again? I didn’t know you had a telepathic ability to sense witchers in your area.” 

Her yellow eyes shone mischievously in the low light and Tissaia immediately felt regret. Yennefer didn’t seem to be bleeding to death as with last time, so there was no real reason to stay by the witcher’s camp. Still, the sorceress carefully stepped closer. “I merely came to see if you weren’t trying to get yourself killed again,” she said with a tight lipped smile. 

“I don’t always need you help, sorceress,” Yennefer said, her voice suddenly cold. She reached for the rabbit which she had roasting over the fire. “Drowners aren’t a fully grown forktail. The only thing they do is make my blades slimey.” 

“And they wounded your arm, clearly.” Nodding at the bandage which Yennefer had tied around her lower arm, Tissaia set her bag down on the ground and fished one of the health potions out. “Drink this before it infects. Who knows what kinds of nasty diseases there are in these waters.” 

Yennefer looked over the rim of the vial at Tissaia, for the entire time while she drank the potion. Perhaps it was just her general presence starting to have an effect on Tissaia, but the sorceress thought that she purposefully took longer to drink. 

“Shit’s gross,” she mumbled when she had finished it. “Do you want some rabbit in return?” 

“I have eaten,” Tissaia said curtly. Truthfully, she had not, but she did not want to risk dirtying her clothing with grease. “I trust your recovery went well, after you stormed out of my house.” 

She had wanted to phrase it as a question, but thought it better not to. There was no reason for Yennefer to know about the concern she had felt after seeing her leave. 

“It was fine. I drank your potions four days in a row, made it to Kaer Morhen in one piece.” Yennefer prodded into the roasting rabbit, testing its readiness. Evidently, she wasn’t satisfied, because she grunted and let it roast for a bit longer. “Haven’t seen Geralt since, though. I wonder what he’s up to that’s taking him so long to get back.” 

Tissaia’s eyebrows rose. “Have you not heard what happened in Blaviken?” 

During the latest meeting of the Chapter, she had heard Stregobor gloat about what had transpired in Blaviken, with Geralt of Rivia and the fallen princess. It had made her sick to her stomach, and she had been brooding on a plan to curb Stregobor’s practices. Unfortunately, she had to devote more time to helping the inhabitants of Rinde and advising the city’s council. 

“Perhaps you should ask him,” she said to Yennefer. “It will be better than hearing my possibly warped version of the events.” 

“A humble sorceress,” Yennefer huffed. “Now there’s something I haven’t seen before.” 

“I merely know where it would be better to hear a first hand account rather than mine.” Tissaia stiffened her posture as she returned her reply, her eyes falling onto the streak of white hair which graced the other woman’s temple.

Yennefer felt a wave of relief wash over her, for even as cryptic as the sorceress was, with whatever information she had been privy to, it meant that Geralt was still alive. She would catch up on the details surrounding the events in Blaviken the next time they crossed paths, though she was sure whatever had happened, he had his reasons.

“Hmm, I’ll be sure to ask him next time I see him,” she uttered as she turned the rabbit to roast the other side, flaming ash drifted upwards before flickering out. “If you’d like to stay and make sure I manage to survive a night alone in the woods, you can have my bedroll. I’ve slept on the dirt more than once in my life.” Yennefer smirked at the other woman, slightly amused at the suppressed look of irritation on her face. Pondering why she had even tried to hide it in the first place.

“Thank you, no, I won’t be staying. I just wanted to make sure you didn’t need any assistance. Now that I see you do not, I will return to Rinde and leave you be,” Tissaia said as she clasped her hands, an attempt to avoid recognizing the weight which had been lifted from her at the sight of Yennefer sitting relatively unharmed, next to the fire. The only urgency being that she was in desperate need of a bath.

Yennefer shrugged as she pulled the rabbit from the fire, turning it over a few times to ensure it had cooked evenly. “Suit yourself, more rabbit for me.”

At that, Tissaia arched a brow and extended her hand. Yennefer shielded her face from the gust of wind which kicked up a few leaves as the Tissaia’s portal burst to life. She stopped just before stepping through the magical doorway which Yennefer could see led back to the familiar room which she had spent many days recovering.

“I suppose I should thank you for eliminating the drowners. Perhaps I’ll be able to purchase items from the market at a reasonable price, now that the roads are passable once again.” The slightest smile danced along the corners of her mouth, but before Yennefer could reply, the sorceress stepped through the portal, which broke apart and vanished once she had crossed the threshold.

Yennefer tore off a bit of rabbit, watching the steam as it curled in the air. It was tender and perfectly cooked, the gamey taste made up for the lack of seasoning herbs she carried. She laughed to herself as she tore off another piece. “Well, that explains the unreasonably high priced vials."

She huffed, picking up the empty vial Tissaia had left behind. She then turned it over in her hand, watching as the remaining few drops of liquid rolled from one side to the other, and thought to know why Tissaia held such concern for her.

The potion she had brought healed her arm, though another scar had been added to her skin. No matter, her entire body was decorated with them. She felt along its jagged, raised edges with calloused hands and thought about Tissaia’s soft, warm touch instead.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Check out the tumblr of the artist who made the title art!  
> https://xxtorchxx.tumblr.com/
> 
> Something in this chapter is foreshadowing! Won't tell you what but it's a pretty big thing and is related to the title of the fic :p


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tissaia just wants a peaceful evening with a book and some dried figs. Then Yennefer comes along with a djinn.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is our take on the djinn! Since we have Yennefer the witcher, we naturally couldn't have the meeting between her and Geralt take place as it does in the show. Instead, we have this. Yen is still a stupid and does overestimates herself.

[Greypaws](https://soundcloud.com/user-100350749) · [SW Chapter 6](https://soundcloud.com/user-100350749/sw-chapter-6)

_(Narration by Greypaws!)_

* * *

Tissaia was reading by her hearth, enjoying a rare evening without obligations. One of her windows was opened slightly, so a cool nightly breeze freshened her homely living room. It drifted over the long, oaken table near the window that she used for dining. It could sit a dozen people, if need be. 

The sorceress flipped a page. She sighed contently and leaned into her armchair a little. The roughened back of the book felt so very satisfying against her fingers. Reaching into a small wooden bowl on the rounded table beside her chair, she delicately grabbed a dried fig between two fingers. Just as she was about to bring it to her mouth, the breeze turned cold. 

Her dark green curtains flapped in the suddenly increasing wind. Darker shadows than before were cast into the room. Only briefly, because another gust of wind blew out the candles she had lit shortly after. Tissaia dropped the fig back into the bowl and stood up, walking to the window. 

The clear night sky had turned overcast in a matter of seconds. Grey and black clouds swirled overhead with such intensity that Tissaia frowned and stood on her tiptoe in order to lean out of the window. Thunder rumbled above her, angry and gnashing through the early evening. At the same time, there was a knocking on her door. 

“Sorceress!” came the muffled yelling of townsfolk on the other side. “Sorceress de Vries!” 

“What is the matter?” Tissaia inquired as she opened the door, looking into the eyes of several frightened townspeople. 

They beckoned her to walk along, pointing at the lake nearby Rinde. “There’s a storm above the lake!” a woman said in a shrill voice. “It wasn’t there a minute ago.” 

Tissaia pursed her mouth and took a deep, measured breath. She could sense the chaos in the clouds. It felt unnatural, a different hum than the energies she was used to feeling on the continent. The taste of magic she had on the back of her tongue was different too. Volatile, like electricity in the air. 

“This is not a normal storm!” one of the people who had gathered around her insisted. 

With a short nod and a hand that she raised to her chest, Tissaia stopped any further yelling. “I know,” she said. “I will head to the lake and see what’s going on.” 

She had never failed the people of Rinde as their sorceress, and no matter how skeptical Redania in general was of mages, it seemed as if she had won herself a bit of their trust. They parted, allowing her to head to her house with quick, firm steps. Once there, she opened her potion cabinet and took a look at her collection. If this was a powerful enemy mage, perhaps an elf, given the unfamiliarity of their magic, she could use the extra power. 

Tissaia decided on a few potions that would amplify her magic, along with healing draughts in case she would need them. She changed out of her evening dress into clothing more fit for a heavy storm. Sturdy dark blue trousers underneath a skirt with slits up the legs, back and front for mobility. After tucking her shirt into the waistband of the skirt and tightening the cuffs on the sleeves, she put on brown leather gloves and a shoulder cape. Dressed so, she conjured a portal to the lakeside. 

Wind whipped into her face as she stepped through, like ice on her skin. Lightning flashed near the water, so Tissaia rapidly started walking, a spell sizzling in her hand, at the ready. In the fading light of the sun and the irregular lightning, she saw two figures. They fought by the lake. For a moment, Tissaia was puzzled by their positioning. While one was standing firmly on the ground, the other seemed to float several feet into the air. Then she saw the smoky silhouette and the absence of legs, or true limbs at all for that matter. 

She knew now why the storm had felt unlike the regular swirl of chaos. This was a djinn. An air elemental from a different plane of existence. They were very powerful, especially when they were, as this one was, extremely angry. This was concerning, even to such a powerful mage as Tissaia. Djinn could rival and even exceed the strongest human mages when it came to magical capabilities. Yet the person fighting it didn’t appear to be a mage at all. 

When lightning struck the water, they were illuminated. Tissaia’s eyes went wide as she recognised the streak of white hair on the temple, and those piercing yellow eyes. Yennefer. The witcher’s hair was soaked, sticking to her face. Her expression was wild and furious. 

“Yennefer!” Tissaia yelled, trying to be louder than the raging storm. 

The witcher turned and looked at her for a brief moment. “This is my contract, Tissaia!” she roared. 

“You seem to be doing a fine job at it. A djinn, Yennefer? This is mage’s work.” 

“Oh fuck off. I couldn’t know what it was ‘till I pulled it out of the lake,” Yennefer sneered, gesturing with her sword to a pile of broken ceramic shards. 

Tissaia noted that at the very least, Yennefer had the right sword for the job. As with all creatures, djinn had a weakness to silver. Still, this one was too powerful for the witcher to defeat. If only she would break through her stubbornness and realise that before it was too late. “Let me dispell, it Yennefer,” Tissaia said, pulling her cape more tightly around her shoulders as the storm increased its intensity. 

“Can’t I do anything without you poking your fingers into it? This is  _ my  _ task, Tissaia, and-” Yennefer looked up from her ranting to where the djinn had been hovering. “Where the fuck did it go?” 

Both of them frantically looked around for a few moments. Tissaia was barely able to restrain her panic, since losing sight of this djinn meant that it could wreak more havoc on Rinde than she could repair. “The clouds, Yennefer,” she said. “Look at the clouds, they’re different in structure where the djinn is.” 

Yet before either of them could spot a fragment of the smoky substance of the elemental, it rushed at them from behind. Tissaia cast a shield, only barely able to withstand the sheer raw force of the djinn as it cracked her spell almost instantly. Yennefer only raised her silver sword and readied herself for a strike. Before Tissaia could pull the Witcher, with a seeming death wish, under her shielding spell, the djinn lifted her off her feet and sent her flying. The sorceress winced when she saw Yennefer hit a tree trunk hard. The air was knocked out of her lungs and she fell in a heap onto the wet earth. 

Within moments, the witcher pushed herself onto her knees, coughing and gasping for breath. “Tissaia, where is it?” she wheezed. “Where the fuck is it?” 

As she made a move for her sword, which had fallen from her hand, she suddenly cried out. Gripping her stomach, Yennefer lurched forward. When she looked up at Tissaia again, her eyes were red. A scream tore from Yennefer’s throat, one which very nearly caused Tissaia to cover her ears, amplified by the power of the djinn which now resided inside of the witcher.

“It’s  _ in  _ you! It has made you its vessel, it  _ will  _ kill you.” Tissaia felt the panic rising inside of her chest. Dispatching an extremely angry djinn was one thing, but removing one from the body of another was an entirely different story.

Yennefer could just make out the words which Tissaia had spoken, muffled by the sound of rushing wind and her own screams. Pain traveled through her body, shifting from one place to the next, as a voice followed it along. A deep voice, speaking a language she’d never heard before. It’s tone was as angry as it’s touch, and it felt as if her body was being torn apart from the inside.

Her muscles began to cramp and seize, and though it would do her no good to reach for her sword at this point, she did so anyways. If she were to perish at the hands of this djinn, she wanted to do so with a blade in her hand. Her fingers refused to close around the grip and she heard a dark chuckle in her head. That, at least, was a language she understood. It was the same arrogance she exuded whenever she had defeated a lesser creature as well. 

She made a move to call for Tissaia, but the only noise she could manage was another desperate cry, as a shock of intense pain traveled up her spine. Her back arched at an unnatural angle and her stomach burned. She wretched forward, blood spilling from her mouth. The voice began chanting something in her head, increasing in both volume and speed as she continued to spit out more blood.

Tissaia fought through the massive amount of knowledge she had accumulated over the years, recalling nothing which might assist in removing the elemental from Yennefer’s body. A body who was twisting in pain, and whose screams ripped through her very being. The storm began to increase in intensity and Tissaia quickly cast another protective barrier to shield both her and the witcher from a series of lightning strikes. The light from which was blinding even with her eyes squeezed shut.   
  
The djinn had few weaknesses, using a silver blade was out of the question for obvious reasons. Dimeritium bombs were effective, but she considered them too dangerous to keep in her possession as she knew the effects it had on mages and had never been willing to risk keeping them in her possession. Superior elementa oil would have been an option to try, but she had none in her arsenal and she frowned at the thought of being so thoroughly unprepared for this fight.   
  
“How was I to know you would dredge up an angry djinn,” She said to the red-eyed witcher as she fished out a magic enhancement potion, then pulled the cork from the vial with her teeth, spitting it aside before eagerly consuming the contents. It left a bitter taste on her tongue but she felt its power as her own magic swelled within her.   
  
It was something the djinn must have sensed too, for she barely dodged another bolt of lightning, this one originating from Yennefer herself. Tissaia cast the bolt aside with her hand, then narrowly avoided a direct strike from the sky by holding the empty vial above her head, catching it in the small vessel. She threw it aside, flinching when the power of the bolt exploded upon collision with the ground, the vial shattering and lodging a few shards into her arm as she shielded her face. The wounds stung, but she needed to reserve her shields for stronger attacks than broken glass.

The rain and wind increased as Tissaia continued to dodge the lightning, stepping through a hastily summoned portal which led only a short distance away and using shields to stop the lightning. The ground was becoming saturated and despite the fact that she had enhanced her magical abilities with a potion, she was beginning to feel herself wearing down. Something she desperately needed the djinn to do in return, to tire. For just as she, it did not possess the ability to utilize an infinite amount of magic.

As she fought against sheets of rain which came down sideways, shifting directions under the force of the wind and stinging her face, she wondered what she would do once the elemental had been worn down. And how long would Yennefer be able to hold out against this vengeful djinn in order for that to happen?

Suddenly, an idea struck her and her lips curled into a smirk. Yennefer had seemingly found the most volatile and angry djinn on the entire continent, and then enraged it. Something she could sympathize with, as this particular witcher  _ was  _ infuriating. Perhaps if she could somehow irritate it even more than Yennefer had, it would be inclined to leave her body and enter Tissaia’s instead.

She drank a healing draught and turned her eyes to the sky, relishing the flood of energy which returned to her as she did so. The clouds above her began to rotate in a counterclockwise direction, then descend. The winds shred through her and she struggled to remain standing, Yennefer's screams were a distant sound in the background as she readied herself.

Her command over the elements was commendable, but she needed them to be much more than that if she were to enact her plan of antagonizing the bitter elemental, by dismantling its storm. She shouted her incantation towards the sky, using her enhanced magic to reverse the rotation of the clouds. The funnel which had begun to form above them twisted apart into fine threads before dispersing dramatically.   
  
She could feel the power of the storm as she probed it with her magic, it’s intensity was trying to grow. “You can’t keep this up forever,” she taunted as she pushed the storm higher into the atmosphere, stifling its rage. The lightning, no longer striking the ground.

Her head snapped to Yennefer’s direction as agonizing screams waned and were replaced by an otherworldly voice, one which repeated a chant composed of ancient words she could not translate. Yennefer’s eyes locked onto her, the red in them began to glow brighter and her lips parted.

A dark mist spilled out, first from her mouth, then her ears. Yennefer’s body shook as it did so, the fine mist began billowing towards Tissaia. The witcher fell face first onto the ground once it had completely left her.

“Now I’ve got you,” Tissaia arched an eyebrow as she enveloped the angry elemental inside a protective barrier, compressing it further and further until it was no larger than the size of a sphere which would fit in the palm of her hand. The dark matter which made up the djinn flickered with lightning before finally settling down, seemingly content with its new residence. One Tissaia would make certain would not be broken into ever again. She touched along the surface of the barrier and whispered an incantation which caused a trickle of blood to run from her nose. She wiped it away as she watched runes form along the surface of the sphere, transforming the magical barrier into glass.

“Yennefer,” her voice wavered as she ran to the witcher, turning her over and looking for any signs of life. She brushed a lock of dark hair mixed with white from the other woman’s eyes. They drifted open, revealing the yellow coloration and a look of confusion. “It’s me, Tissaia,” she said, trying to catch her breath.   
  


Yennefer looked at her groggily. She shivered momentarily, even though the wind had died down and the storm had dissipated. Then she coughed harshly, a bit of blood leaking out of her mouth. Mumbling a curse under her breath, she grabbed her stomach. 

Alarmed, Tissaia extended a hand to help Yennefer up. First to her knees, then to her feet, swaying as she slung an arm over Tissaia’s shoulders and breathed a disgusting mixed smell of blood and lake water into the sorceress’ face. Tissaia held her breath as she opened a portal and guided herself and the witcher through. 

She sat Yennefer down on a familiar bed, in her examination room. “I must take a look at your injuries. Take off your shirt.” 

“So eager to bed me?” Yennefer teased as she reached for her soaked, disheveled leather armour. 

In hindsight, Tissaia should have known that she would say something in that direction. She sighed deeply, too exhausted to find a witty reply. Then she pressed her lips together, steeling herself, knowing she wasn’t done for the day yet. After carefully placing the enchanted glass sphere containing the djinn on her table, she turned back to the bed. Now facing a shirtless witcher, she said: “No, to make sure you are not internally bleeding to death.” 

Yennefer hummed as she threw her shirt onto the pile of her armour, next to the bed. It made a resounding wet sound and Tissaia saw a few splatters of likely unsanitary lake water splash against her floor. For a moment, seemingly so long ago, she had hoped for a peaceful evening. 

The bruises on Yennefer’s skin spoke volumes. Tissaia could see how tightly the witcher set her lips and the muscles in her face to hide most of her pain. As she laid her hands on Yennefer’s stomach, the raven haired woman hissed in pain. She glared at Tissaia as the sorceress took a deep breath and let the chaos she felt sparkling under the skin of her palms pour into Yennefer’s body. 

While she sensed quite a bit of damage, there seemed to be no large tears. It would be easier to mitigate these kinds of injuries, she surmised, as she took a deep breath and prepared herself for the spell. Reaching deeper with her magic, she began murmuring healing spells under her breath, repairing the wounds that the djinn had inflicted. Yennefer tensed under her hands, but didn’t say a word. Despite this, Tissaia could practically feel her glare even though she had her eyes closed. 

Her nose started to bleed again through the endeavour, but she paid little attention to it. Instead, she focused through the discomfort she felt and continued mending the more severe injuries. Satisfied she had healed enough of the internal damage to keep her stable, she stepped away, pulling a clean cloth from a drawer and wiping her nose with it. “How do you feel?”

“Like I was possessed by a djinn,” the witcher replied sarcastically, the warmth of Tissaia’s hands having faded. “Better.”

“Good. You will need a few more treatments, your organs were put through a substantial amount of stress. The bed is yours, wait here,” Tissaia said dryly as she left the room for a few minutes, returning with a clean shirt in her hand. “It’s the largest one I have. It may fit a bit tightly, but it’s much cleaner than that thing,” Tissaia said as she motioned to the sopping wet shirt Yennefer had discarded onto her armour. “I’ll draw a bath for you, so you can get yourself cleaned up. I’m sure there are  _ some  _ things you can still do for yourself.”

Yennefer groaned as she rolled her eyes. “You’re no fun.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading!


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yennefer recuperates in Rinde, Tissaia learns to cope with that. Nilfgaard is mentioned, does that smell like plot or what?

[Greypaws](https://soundcloud.com/user-100350749) · [Still Waters Chapter 7](https://soundcloud.com/user-100350749/still-waters-chapter-7)

_(Audio narration by Greypaws!)_

* * *

Yennefer winced as she turned on her side. The bed had been comfortable enough, as she recalled from her previous stay, but her body was still feeling the effects of nearly being obliterated from the inside. She dug her way out from under the blankets and her thick, dark hair as she smelled something cooking. She struggled to sit up, clutching at her abdomen and allowing her pounding headache a few moments to lessen before swinging both knees over the side of the bed and reaching for the pants she had slipped out of some time during the night.

“I thought the smell of a meal might rouse you from your slumber,” Tissaia said as she cast a glance over her shoulder, then continued to stir the soup she was preparing. She dipped a ladle in the broth, bringing it to her lips and blowing on it ever so slightly before taking a sip. She hummed as she pointed to a small container on the counter near Yennefer. “Would you bring that to me? It could use a bit of allspice.”

Yennefer placed the container next to her, taking a look into the pot as Tissaia stirred the contents. A variety of different vegetables came to the surface, disappearing once she stopped to add a bit of the crushed spice from the container, nodding her head in approval once she tasted it again and found it to be to her liking.

The witcher leaned the small of her back against the counter, an arm still clutching her stomach. “You look like crap.”

Tissaia looked at her, remaining silent as she then added a pinch of salt to the broth. She felt like it too, the arrogant witcher wasn’t wrong. She had over exerted herself in yesterday’s battle against the djinn, tapping into all of her chaotic energies and using it in ways she hadn’t in so many years. Her life in Rinde, while it wasn’t dull, usually didn’t involve such strenuous use of her magic. She was exhausted, despite trying to hide the fact from Yennefer.

“I’m fine, thank you for your concern, Lady Witcher. Were you able to rest? I see you clutching your abdomen, once we have eaten I will take another look.” Tissaia rested the ladle against the side of the pot, allowing the soup to cook.

“I would have slept better if it weren’t for your rooster waking me up every twenty minutes,” Yennefer said as she allowed her hands to fall to her side.

Tissaia sneered. “That rooster is not mine. It belongs to the neighbour. If I had half a mind, I would free the djinn and use my first wish to make it so his call was nothing more than a whisper. Then I would use my second one to try and figure out why you were so underprepared for a fight with a djinn in the first place.”

Yennefer held her hands up defensively. “Hey, I was plenty prepared for what I thought I was up against.”

The sorceress made her way to a cabinet, pulling out two red, glazed ceramic bowls and two spoons. She set them down next to the pot and filled the ladle full with equal parts of both broth and vegetables, then began dishing it out. “And just what did you think it was, exactly?”

“I had heard rumours from the townsfolk of whispers coming from the lake, and strange sounds from the area. Figured it was just some unfortunate soul who had drowned in the lake and wasn’t too happy about it, or something haunting the nearby cemetery. Thought it would be a wraith I was going up against. I had plenty of spectre oil for my silver blade, even made extra since the price of crafting materials dropped in Rinde, thanks to whomever it was that slayed the drowners. Oh, wait, I do believe that was me,” Yennefer replied.

Tissaia maintained her impassive expression, filling both bowls with soup then placing a spoon in each. Yennefer watched the steam as it curled from the broth and her stomach began to growl, reminding her that it had been too long since she had last eaten.

“Yes, it was, and due to that fact I have also been able to make more healing potions,  _ for you _ . You may have been prepared for a wraith, but what you encountered wasn’t a wraith. And only you, Yennefer of Vengerberg, could manage to find an elemental creature capable of granting wishes, and get it to hate you. How did you manage that feat of strength?”

The sorceress picked up the bowls and carried them to the table. Yennefer noted how she practically glided across the floor with the soup, nary spilling even a single drop. She placed them both on the table and motioned for Yennefer to join her. She was surprised at just how good the soup tasted. Tissaia was clearly a woman of many talents.

“Once I had arrived at the lake I searched the area but found nothing. I nearly gave up and walked away, thinking it had just gone away. Wouldn’t have mattered to me, the contract wasn’t worth much, but a lot of people were spooked and I was bored.” Yennefer noted the poignant look she received from Tissaia.

“Yes, that must have been it. Do go on,” Tissaia said before returning to her soup, blowing gently on each spoonful before quietly eating. Yennefer had never known it was possible to eat soup without making any noise whatsoever.

“As soon as I turned around I heard a strange voice coming from the water. Thought maybe it could be a water sprite messing with me. I cast a net hoping to catch it but instead I pulled up an amphora. The net had gotten caught on a branch so I jerked it a few times. But the branch broke and the amphora flew from the net and shattered. Which the djinn wasn’t too fond of.” She stirred her soup a few times, trying to block out the fact that the voices she heard had been swimming around inside her head as well.

“My point stands, you were unprepared and you were clumsy.”

Yennefer sighed deeply and glared at Tissaia over a spoonful of soup. “I wasn’t clumsy. Have you ever tried fighting something you can barely hit with a sword? Something that, on top of said immateriality, has more magic than most advanced sorcerers?” 

“Yes, in fact, I did. Yesterday,” Tissaia said. She brought a spoonful of soup to her mouth, managing to be elegant in even that. The perfect poise with which she seemingly held no matter what she did, infuriated Yennefer, for she could find no fault in the sorceress’ actions. Nothing to mess with, except for her sense of cleanliness, which was funny to disturb. 

The witcher filled her spoon and slurped very noisily, watching with hidden amusement as Tissaia’s eyebrows rose. Still grinning, she lifted her bowl to her mouth and drank the last of the soup, chewing on the vegetables for a few moments before swallowing. “Ten years, Tissaia. We’ve met thrice in ten years and you still pull the same disgusted face as when we first saw each other in that tavern.” 

“Ten years is very little time for people who barely age,” Tissaia replied, calmly taking another spoonful. “ _ Physically _ age,” she added with a slight lift of her brow. 

Yennefer smiled bitterly at that. “Yes,” she mumbled. “You mages never forget, do you?” After pausing, she looked out of the window for a few moments. “I know what happened in Blaviken. Geralt told me. They still call him the Butcher of Blaviken, even after a decade, thanks to your colleague.” 

“Stregobor is barely a colleague of mine. Relationships within the Chapter are strained.” Tissaia stood up, retrieving both bowls and walking to the kitchen. Even in a plain, dark blue dress with little decoration apart from the puffy shoulders, she looked unusually regal. When she returned, she placed two mugs with tea onto the table. Then, she sat down opposite to Yennefer once again. “Your fellow witcher will win back the people’s favour in due time.” 

“If he doesn’t get his ass stuck in the people’s business again,” Yennefer shot back, leaning back in her chair. She nearly swung her feet up onto the table, but stopped herself for a reason she couldn't contemplate at that moment. “Witchers slay monsters. Mages clean up people’s messes. That’s how it should be.” 

Tissaia took a long drink from her tea, staring into the liquid for a few moments before sighing. “I think you will find that those two things mix and mingle more than you want, Yennefer.” 

Yennefer huffed softly. She didn’t have a good answer to that. At least, nothing with which she could circumvent Tissaia’s wit and end the discussion in a satisfying way. She should’ve known better than to start one with a sorceress anyways. Still she had allowed herself to, and she wondered why. 

Before she could find an answer, Tissaia broke the somewhat uncomfortable silence. She set her mug down onto the table and said: “I must inspect your injuries now. If you would follow me to the medical chamber.” 

Without complaint, Yennefer stood and made her way to the chamber. She knew better than to argue with Tissaia when it came to healing, or any other type of magical power, for that matter. She sat on the edge of the bed, drawing a look from Tissaia as she shoved aside the scattered blankets in order to do so.

“Has no one ever taught you how to make a bed?” Tissaia quipped as she readied herself to probe into the witchers form to look for more damage.

Yennefer shrugged. “Since I never use one, I hardly see the point.”

While Tissaia understood that the raven haired woman had little time for the comforts of a freshly made bed with clean linens and feather pillows, the urge to make her stand aside so she could make the bed before commencing, lingered in the back of her mind. She shoved her nitpicking aside in favor of proceeding with the healing session. 

“Lie down, I’ll begin the examination. Have you any pain?” She asked as she felt along Yennefer’s abdomen, relieved she didn’t feel any swelling and that Yennefer seemed relatively agreeable to her prodding.

Yennefer winced as Tissa moved her hands from the soft tissues of her stomach, to her ribs. The sorceress stopped, looking at Yennefer with concern. Tissaia let out the breath she was holding in once Yennefer simply smirked and replied, “I’m ticklish.”

“Good, I’m in no mood to deal with any broken bones today,” she remarked, somewhat amused that the Lady Witcher of Vengerberg was ticklish. “I’m going to check your internal injuries now.”

When Yennefer nodded her head, Tissaia began her work. Ignoring the fact that she was still tired from straining herself so much, she felt along the edges of the wounds she had healed the night prior. Her lungs had suffered at the hands of the djinn, but thanks to the witcher’s accelerated healing and the mending spell she had used, they seemed nearly fully functional.

Had this been anyone else, they wouldn’t have survived at all. Including herself.

Yennefer felt much relief as Tissaia worked her healing magic. The warmth spread from the sorceress’ soft hands and into her muscles. It was relaxing, and Yennefer nearly contemplated finding out how angry Tissaia would be if she fell asleep during the examination. She decided against it, asking about the status of her own health instead.

“You’ll live, but you could use another session, possibly two before you leave.” Tissaia slowly withdrew her hands, taking care not to jolt the witcher by retracting her magic too quickly.

“If I don’t die of boredom in this stuffy place,” Yennefer mumbled. “Is there anything interesting to do here?” 

“I have a small personal library upstairs, you can use it and read in the garden to your leisure. The weather is right for it. Otherwise, I strongly recommend that you rest.” Tissaia nodded to the window in the room, where a bit of sunlight shone in. 

Yennefer could just see a small garden outside, with a delicate wooden bench. Several kinds of flowers and herbs framed it, along with a small apple tree above it. Briefly, she wondered if Tissaia maintained the little garden by herself. In any case, it looked cozy and warm. “I’m not big on dusty books, but I’ll spend some time sleeping in your garden,” she said in a much friendlier voice than she had intended.    
  
The sorceress hummed. “As long as you keep your muddy boots off my bench. They’re standing just outside the garden door.” 

She then turned and strode towards the staircase to the upstairs rooms, folding her hands together. Her heels clicked softly on the stone tiles of the floor and Yennefer found herself staring at her form for a few moments longer than was decent.    
  
“What are you going to do?” she asked. 

“I will write a letter to a friend, in my study,” Tissaia said, holding still with one foot raised on the lowest step of the stairs. 

Before they had gotten so oddly acquainted, and if she were in a better condition, Yennefer would have shot her a barb about the fact that the uptight sorceress apparently had friends. Now, however, she found herself asking who this friend was. 

“Her name is Vanielle,” Tissaia said. “She studied at Aretuza while I was the rectoress’ assistant. At the moment, she serves the court of Nilfgaard.” 

[brazenedMinstrel](https://soundcloud.com/user-768938233) · [The Lady-witcher of Vengerberg](https://soundcloud.com/user-768938233/the-lady-witcher-of-vengerberg)

_(SOUNDTRACK THEME by brazenedMinstrel, embedded because it's been too long since I've put it in the fic somewhere)_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> us writers: "nilfgaard is a thing in this fic"   
> you readers: :O


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yennefer gets a mysterious contract. Tissaia unravels a conspiracy. Nilfgaard is up to something once again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Our take on the creepy bug and the mage that comes after canon!Yen when she’s protecting queen Kalis. No babies were harmed in the making of this chapter.

[Greypaws](https://soundcloud.com/user-100350749) · [SW Chapter 8](https://soundcloud.com/user-100350749/sw-chapter-8)

_(Narration by Greypaws!)_

* * *

Yennefer had been successfully avoiding Tissaia for eight years. For eight whole years, she hadn’t set foot in Rinde, and she was quite proud of that achievement. Not that she missed the sorceress and her dry comments, quick wit and admittedly beautiful complexion. No, not at all. 

None of it was on her mind at the moment. She had gotten a request of a mysterious contractor who would meet her on a beach to dispose of a monster. Naturally, the anonymous nature of the contract made her rightfully wary, so she had taken her sword to hand and was carefully scanning her surroundings. 

The beach was made of black sand, a rarity on the Continent. Yennefer couldn’t recall ever having gone quite this far south. In fact, she was nearing the borders of the Nilfgaardian Empire. Like many others in the north, she regarded Nilfgaard as a bit of a joke. 

From Geralt, she’d heard that the empire was currently reigned by a certain lord Peregrine. Her fellow witcher had attended some stuffy ball in Cintra, for reasons Yennefer couldn’t grasp. There, he had witnessed how the Nilfgaardian lord had fled the ballroom after suffering humiliation. Otherwise, Geralt had been oddly tight-lipped about the ball itself. Yennefer didn’t want to spend her time chasing down rumours about the odd circumstances of the dual weddings that had taken place. Nor did she want to waste weeks wrangling more things out of Geralt that he didn’t want to talk about. 

In fact, she was much more interested in teasing him about her latest scrap of knowledge. He had been spending quite an unusual amount of time with a bard. Even as she walked down the beach, she couldn’t help but quietly laugh. A bard. She couldn’t think of anyone who was more of an opposite to Geralt. And she could only think of a single reason why Geralt would spend time with a poet at all. Yennefer smirked. Once she was back in Kaer Morhen for a winter’s stay, she’d inquire all about it. 

For now though, she concentrated on her task. Finally, she saw a figure stand in the black sand of the beach. They wore a wide, loose robe and had a hood pulled deep over their eyes. As she came closer, Yennefer could see that it was a man. An unsavoury looking man, but she wasn’t going to let that bother her. 

“You’re the one who issued that contract?” she asked. “I’m the witcher you asked for.” 

The man didn’t reply. He only stared at Yennefer for a long while. It was unnerving, as he barely moved. It didn’t even look like he was breathing. 

“Are you mute?” Yennefer inquired. “Where’s the monster?” 

Then the man did speak. He whispered a word in the elven tongue. Yennefer frowned, gripping her sword more tightly. She knew what that word meant, but just couldn’t name it at that moment. Then she heard a soft series of clicking noises on the rocks that lined the dunes of the beach. She turned around, and the translation of the word finally came to mind. It was a command. Kill.

_(Art by Greypaws!)_

* * *

“Fuck,” she uttered as she took in the sight of the insectoid which scurried over the rocks, much more quickly than she would have liked. It was a krallach, or roach hound, and a large one at that. She’d only ever heard stories of the magically modified creatures which seemed to enjoy killing for sport more than anything else. The perfect pet for an assassin mage, she realized.

She pulled her silver sword from its sheath and contemplated the best plan of attack against the creature. Its dark brown exoskeleton looked hard and was lined with spiked ridges which ran across the entirety of its back and upper legs. All six of them. Also concerning was the fact that its legs tapered off into sharp points, like curved swords.

As it neared, Yennefer caught a glimpse of its mouth parts which seemed to be nothing more than a mess of sharp fangs which she hoped weren’t venomous. It’s antennae had rotated towards her as it effortlessly climbed over the final pass of rocks. Her hopes that the sand would slow it down due to the fact that it had no true feet were dashed as it raced along the beach at an unimaginable pace.

She grounded herself and cast Aard, knocking the creature back with a powerful burst of telekinetic energy, which only served to irritate it. A chattering sound emanated from its throat which then turned into a high pitched screech as it roared at her. It aggressively stomped its sharp front leg into the sand before charging at her again, rearing back on its four legs and using the front two, striking at her swiftly.

Her blade came up and blocked the strike, which allowed her to feel just how hard the roach hound’s exoskeleton was, for it felt as if she were meeting another sword with her own. Quickly, she rolled out of the way of another attack, trying to glance at its underbelly for any weak spots. It moved too fast to tell as it repositioned itself, honing in on her as she jumped to her feet. There was no doubt in her mind that the insectoid had keen eyesight in addition to everything else in its arsenal.

“You’re an ugly bastard,” she said as she tried to get her footing in the sand. Her boots were heavy and although the sand was damp enough to allow her some traction, it wasn’t ideal. Not when she needed to move faster than a six-legged magical abomination such as this. Her head was left spinning as it leapt, knocking her to the ground. She moved her head to the side quickly, narrowly avoiding being impaled through her skull with its sword-like leg. Sand kicked up and flew in her face as the creature withdrew its arm and readied itself for another blow.

With a cry, she drove the tip of her sword between a joint connecting one of its legs to the thorax. It hardly penetrated at all but it was enough to jolt the creature off her as it jerked back and let out another toe curling shriek. 

“Didn’t like that?” She looked at the tip of her blade, a clear fluid covered the surface.  
Again, the krallach jumped at her, springing forward while drawing its front arms back in an attempt to strike her with both. Without hesitation, she evoked Yrden and rushed backwards, watching as runes formed in a circular pattern, glowing in the sand where she had cast. The magical trap snared the roach hound, slowing it significantly as it crossed into the circle of runes.

She drew her other blade and struck at the creature, to no avail. Its armored skeleton was too dense. As it started to break free of the trap, she saw it straining its head forward, mandibles clicking. There was an opening in between the plates on the base of its neck, baring the soft, pale flesh beneath. If only she could strike there, and sever its head from its body in one hack.

In the distance, the mage in dark clothing began to move. Yennefer followed his movements, dividing her attention between him and the krallach, who was nearly out of the snare. She lifted her blade, poised to cleave its head clean off while she still had the chance.

A sharp pain shot through her shoulder and she staggered backwards, kicking up black sand in the process. The hilt of a dagger protruded from her flesh, but there was no time to pull it out as the roach hound freed itself from the trap and charged at her.

She ducked, narrowly missing a blow from its sharp front leg. It was learning her movements and wearing her down. She could hardly lift her arm with the dagger wedged so deeply in her joint that directing any casting signs with that hand was becoming nearly impossible.

Suddenly, she found herself tumbling in the sand as the krallach lowered its head and rushed forward, knocking her off her feet. Within seconds, she was face to face with the ugly creature as it loomed over her, drawing back it’s blade like forearms and preparing to finish her off. Yennefer drew in a sharp intake of breath and tightened her grip around the handle of her silver sword. She struck, plunging the blade between the plates in its neck, grunting as the movement jarred the injury to her shoulder.

The sound which escaped the creature as she pushed the blade all the way through its head and neck would surely give her nightmares. Clear fluid ran from the wound as the creature slumped forward then fell. Only her lightning quick reflexes prevented her from being crushed from the weight of it as it toppled over.

Panting, Yennefer reached for the knife in her shoulder. It was almost impossible to grab the handle by reaching over her back with the other hand, and the muscles strained with every move. A rushing sound behind her caused her to whip around. Barely, she was able to avoid a bolt of magic from the assassin. It scorched the black sand by her feet, burning it to clumps of glass. 

Her breathing ran ragged and she felt the blood run warmly down her back. Plunging her silver blade into the sand, she drew the steel one instead and prepared to charge. Exhaustion and a fair bit of blood loss made her sway, but the mage would certainly kill her if she didn’t act. 

Suddenly, the air turned a few degrees colder behind her. Yennefer tasted the tang of magic in her mouth, magic which seemed familiar somehow. A shimmering barrier enveloped her, and she heard light footsteps in the sand behind her. Before she could turn, the assassin lifted his arms and began to cast a portal. He didn’t get far. In fact, he couldn’t even complete the spell before he grasped for his throat. Then his neck rotated at an unnatural angle with a snap that Yennefer heard even over the buzzing of magic in her ears.

Turning around, she found herself face to face with a winded, slightly disheveled Tissaia. The small sorceress opened her mouth and closed it again, at a loss for words. When she did speak, it was something Yennefer had never expected to hear. 

“I am sorry, Yennefer. I nearly arrived too late.”

“How?” Yennefer sharply asked. “How did you get here? I mean… how did you know-” 

“If you would sit down and let me remove that throwing knife from your shoulder, I will tell you. It’s a long story.” 

Begrudgingly and with a glare, Yennefer sat down in the sand. Before Tissaia made a move to help her, the sorceress walked over to the body of the assassin. She circumvented the dead roach hound, then knelt down and removed something from the rival mage’s clothing. When she returned, she handed it to Yennefer. It was a patch of fabric, with a golden sun on a black field. 

“Nilfgaard,” Yennefer mumbled. “What does this mean, Tissaia?” 

Tissaia sat down behind her, so close that Yennefer could feel her breath brushing over her hair and neck. Carefully, Tissaia undid the witcher’s leather cuirass, cutting through the part around her wounded shoulder with magic and discarding it. 

“A few months ago, a… friend of mine, Philippa Eilhart, uncovered a conspiracy of sorts. It was related to the Nilfgaardian Empire-” 

Yennefer huffed. “Nilfgaard is a fucking joke. Their supposed ruler nearly shat himself on a ball in Cintra, so I heard from Geralt.” 

“That was years ago,” Tissaia corrected her. “Since, they have gotten a new emperor, a new court, and new mages. One of Aretuza’s graduates, Fringilla Vigo, is competing with my acquaintance Vanielle for the position of highest ranking mage. The reformations they have pushed for in Nilfgaard are impressive. Take a breath, I’m going to pull it out.” 

As Yennefer braced herself, removing one of her gloves and biting down onto it, she nodded. To Tissaia’s credit, she removed the blade smoothly from her shoulder, pulling it out of her flesh in one go. Still, Yennefer ground her teeth down onto her glove and muffled a scream into the leather. She felt fresh blood well up from the wound, running down her back and front. 

“You have steady hands,” she said to Tissaia. “Tell me, does it need stitches?” 

“Not if you allow me to mend it with magic.” 

“Go ahead, you’ve done it a half a dozen times before on me,” Yennefer said after she got the glove out of her mouth. She relaxed when feeling the familiar warmth of Tissaia’s hands on her skin, just barely suppressing a sigh. 

“About Nilfgaard. Philippa got her hands on a cryptic list of instructions and names that we have been pouring over for months. Slowly, we were able to decipher a few bits of it, including some targets for assassinations. One of which was you,” Tissaia continued to explain as she ran her hands along the injuries, casting healing spells. “Before you ask; I don’t know why they chose you. There wasn’t much time to think about the finer details, I had to get here before they killed you.” 

“How nice of you,” Yennefer mumbled. “That creepy bug nearly got me, though. Never seen it before.” 

She stood up when Tissaia removed her hands, sheathing both swords and taking a look at her ruined armour. “You think Nilfgaard can compensate me for this? How about the Chapter?” 

Tissaia pinched her eyebrows together and slowly shook her head. In return, Yennefer shot her a signature smirk, knowing that it was still possible to get under her skin. Despite this, she didn’t feel nearly as antagonistic towards the sorceress as with the previous few times they had met. 

“I will personally give you the coin you need to replace it,” Tissaia said. “As an apology for not being on time to prevent you from being injured.” She looked on with a barely noticeable smile on her face, the smallest upwards curl of her lips. 

Her stomping around in the sand wasn’t doing anything significant to rile Tissaia up further, so Yennefer sat down next to the woman again. The wind was starting to feel cold, blowing in through the tears in her shirt. They stared at the waves together for a while, both exhausted. Yennefer felt her shoulder ache and winced, not afraid to show to Tissaia that she was still in a bit of pain, despite the healing. “There’s a tavern back the way I came. We can go there if you want,” she mumbled. 

Tissaia sighed, then shook her head. “No, I think I will stay here and contact a few people to help me clean up this mess and investigate it further. For once, it’s not a mess you created, but one we couldn’t prevent.” 

Yennefer bit her lip, trying not to show that she had actually hoped that Tissaia would tag along with her. “Alright then. Could you at least throw me a portal to Kaer Morhen?”

Seemingly effortlessly, Tissaia lifted an arm. The air began to swirl a few feet away from her, disrupting some of the sand to form a portal. “Be careful, Yennefer,” she said. It was only then that Yennefer saw how exhausted she looked. “Your shoulder needs to heal further before you slay any monsters. And… I will notify you when I have unearthed more about what Nilfgaard is doing.” 

“No need to. Just make sure that they don’t come after me anymore,” Yennefer said, one foot already in the portal. “That’s not a witcher’s job to solve.”

Tissaia nodded at her in agreement as Yennefer stepped through the portal which then dissipated as if nothing had ever transpired on the beach made of black sand. She opened her own portal, looking back at the two corpses left behind before she stepped through, thankful neither one of those creatures had been successful in their mission of eliminating Yennefer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you find the ripper street reference in here and comment, we’d be very impressed.


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For a decade, Tissaia has ran into Yennefer at random. The witcher always got herself into unwanted trouble. Yet now, Yennefer actively seeks the sorceress out for a task she cannot complete on her own.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The royal wyvern queen in the witcher 1 game is actually called Moa, actually lives in the swamp in Temeria, and the royal huntsman actually has that task open. 
> 
> The route they walk is also taken from an area in the swamp itself, from a map in the game. 

[Greypaws](https://soundcloud.com/user-100350749) · [SW Chapter 9](https://soundcloud.com/user-100350749/sw-chapter-9)

_(Audio narration by Greypaws!)_

* * *

The sun came and went, bringing just as much life to the plants as the rain did, but it didn’t stop the other pests from turning up as well. The weeds growing in her garden gave her little to no rest, and Tissaia tirelessly pulled them day after day.

And then there were the moles. Conniving ground dwellers which ate at the roots of her plants and killed off nearly half of her crop before she had managed to get them under control. Once she had done so, her harvest was plentiful.

She prepared her own meals, day after day, from fresh vegetables and herbs from her garden and fresh meat from the market. The economy in Rinde was flourishing, and Tissaia wanted for nothing. At least, that was what she told herself, until a heavy knock accompanied by a gruff voice sounded at her door.

“Tissaia de Vries?”

A long, drawn out sigh escaped her as she set down her book and made her way to the door. She was greeted by a disheveled lad with a slight look of panic in his eyes. His hand trembled as he pulled a weathered piece of folded parchment from his equally weathered travel bag. Before he could open his mouth and state his mission, Tissaia held up two fingers and arched a brow. She hummed as she reached into her pocket and fished out a coin, pressing it into his hand as she took the note from him.

“I can tell Yennefer sent you, for you smell just as bad as she. Take this coin and find a place in town where you can both rest and bathe.”

She closed the door, taking note of the look of surprise on the young man’s face before she took the parchment from his hand. Her heart was nearly racing with excitement as she placed the crumpled paper on her kitchen table. Before unfolding it, she removed a glass decanter from her kitchen window and poured herself some sun tea. Over the years, Yennefer had always found a way to try and rile her up, she wasn’t going to let her get away with that now, not without being physically present.

“What kind of trouble have you found your way into now, Yennefer,” she said to herself as she finally unfolded the parchment, smoothing out the creases with her hands.

She scanned over the hastily written note, confident that it was penned by none other than the Lady Witcher of Vengerberg herself, if the sloppy handwriting and dirty fingerprints were anything to go by. The details were vague, unsurprisingly, but they spoke of a contract she had accepted and wanted help with. She read the last line several times before setting down the paper and casually sipping her tea once again.

_ ‘I’m only a few days out from Rinde, we can discuss this more once I arrive.’ _

Though Tissaia’s life was most certainly comfortable, she welcomed the bit of adventure that would surely come with Yennefer and her contract. In fact, the longer she thought about it, the more she found that she didn’t mind the prospect of trekking out in search of a monster with the lady-witcher. It puzzled Tissaia. Just when had Yennefer stopped being a nuisance to her, and become someone she’d spend a few days with, without issues, willingly. 

The sorceress was still thinking about it when Yennefer arrived in her usual whirlwind style. She knocked on Tissaia’s door in the late afternoon, kicking off her boots outside the doorstep and waltzing into the house as if she owned the place. It wasn’t entirely odd, since she had been there enough times to know the general layout. At the very least, she didn’t invite herself in like Coral sometimes did. 

Before Yennefer could take more than three steps into the house, Tissaia stopped her with a raised hand. “No further,” she said. “Bathe, for I can guess where you have last slept a few days by the smell.” 

After being directed to the bathroom, Yennefer emerged a few minutes later with wet hair and a lot less stink. She sought out Tissaia in the kitchen, eyeing the steaming pot of goulash that was simmering. Wisps of steam curled upwards, carrying the delicious smell of spices and meat with them. Yennefer had a bit of experience with Tissaia’s cooking skills, and she looked forward to eating it. She gladly accepted a glass of cold milk that Tissaia handed her. It was a warm day, and she had been sweltering in her dark clothing. 

“Tell me about the contract. It must be something special to have you asking for my help,” Tissaia said as she opened the door to the garden and sat down on the wooden bench under the apple tree. She looked dainty, in the beige dress with cream coloured accents that she wore. Unlike the majority of her dresses, this one did not have a high collar or stuffed shoulders. In fact, the little bit of bare skin that showed by her neck made her seem a touch more fragile than usual. Or perhaps she was a bit more relaxed. 

“It’s mostly to avoid another forktail situation.” Yennefer rubbed with her hand over her chest, where the three scars still split her skin in long streaks, even after a decade. “A few weeks ago, the royal huntsman of Temeria offered a great sum of money to whomever can slay the wyvern queen, she's been making the only way through the swamp unsafe. She's grown big, and perhaps fatter, than Temeria’s king.” 

“Well, don’t let Foltest hear that, or you will never get your gold,” Tissaia said with a hint of a smile on her face. 

Yennefer noted that she seemed to smile with her eyes, more so than with her mouth. Those intensely blue eyes that held an eternal spark of a sharp mind within them. She took a quick drink of milk and continued. “I’ll be sure to keep my mouth shut if I do see him. Regardless, the people fear that thing so much that they’ve given it a name. Moa, they call it. I’d take it on with Geralt, but he’s running around in the mountains of Kovir with a bard. On a dragon hunt or something. And after the forktail, I’m not taking on another draconid alone.”

“I’m glad you feel that way, I would prefer it if every encounter we had didn’t result in you nearly dying,” Tissaia said as a light breeze carried the fragrance of supper through the air. “So you have fought a wyvern before? What do I need to know about them, I’ll need to prepare some potions to bring along.”

“I’ve fought them before, but none quite this large. They like to attack from the air and will try to knock you over before mauling you with their large large claws and sharp teeth, but the venomous stinger on the end of its tail is the real threat. It is a strong toxin, stronger than a forktail, I’ve heard. I’ve made sure to bring along plenty of Golden Oriole this time,” Yennefer said as she downed the rest of her milk and sat next to Tissaia.

Tissaia hummed as she looked at Yennefer, “sounds challenging enough, is that all?”

“No, it isn’t. They can also spit venom as well and are fairly accurate. Though I don’t know if this one does. I’ve heard the older wyverns such as this one sometimes have company, so it may be more than one.”

“Then it sounds as if I have much preparation to do before we depart. I’ve stocked plenty of herbs since receiving your note, knowing how much trouble you like to get yourself into.” Tissaia stood, smoothing her dress with the palms of her hands before turning to the door which led back into the kitchen.

Yennefer let out an exasperated sigh, “you have to do that now? I’ve just arrived.”

“Then join me for supper, it should be ready by now,” Tissaia said as she flashed a small smile at the witcher, who needed little prodding at the thought of a home cooked meal.

After washing up, Yennefer seated herself at the table. Her mouth watered as Tissaia placed a bowl filled with goulash before her. The hearty smell promised a good meal, and she was quick to grab the spoon that Tissaia had set on the table. Before the sorceress had even sat down, she had taken her first bite. As the smell had indicated, it was heavenly. Warm, rich and flavourful. 

“How are you such a good cook, anyways,” she asked Tissaia. “Most mages I’ve seen can’t even be assed to make a drink for themselves.” 

Tissaia smiled wryly. She lifted a spoonful of goulash to her mouth and took her sweet time eating it before she answered Yennefer. “Most mages don’t serve a city. You won’t see them having the time to maintain a small garden and buy fresh ingredients at the market. I admit that I’m privileged in that way.” 

“But why?” Yennefer prodded. “Why don’t you serve a king?” 

Tissaia’s fine eyebrows crinkled in a frown. She set her jaw and lips a little bit tighter at the question. It was odd, to Yennefer, because she had never seen the sorceress seem so uncomfortable. 

“That is no subject to speak about over dinner,” Tissaia eventually answered. “Continue about our upcoming task. What else would you advise me to bring?” 

For a few long seconds, Yennefer held Tissaia’s eyes with hers. There was a minute twitch in one of her eyelids, despite the fact that she meticulously kept the rest of her features blank. “I... -” Yennefer started, drawing out the word and studying Tissaia for a few moments longer before deciding not to frustrate the woman she would go on a wyvern hunt with. “I’d bring the full medical kit along, in case you somehow run out of magic and either one of us gets hurt. Otherwise, gear that’s fit for a swamp. None of what you’re usually wearing, I take it.” 

“That is true, but I have some clothing that would be suitable .” 

~~~

Throughout the late hours of the evening and the early hours of the morning, Yennefer heard Tissaia move about in the house. She wondered if the woman ever slept. She also wondered what Tissaia was doing. While they hadn’t strictly talked about when they would leave for Temeria, Yennefer had urged Tissaia to be ready as soon as possible. Every day they waited was another day that the swamp route was inaccessible. 

When she had washed and dressed that morning, having chosen to rise earlier than usual, she found out just why Tissaia had been up and about for such a long time. There was a neat collection of items on the table in the kitchen. Camping gear, a large number of potions, plenty of medical items and a large waterskin. There was also an empty bag with various kinds of food on top of it and a long, surprisingly heavy dagger. Yennefer picked it up to examine it closer when Tissaia entered the kitchen. She placed a pair of heavy boots onto the table and gave the witcher a scrutinizing look that caused her to place the dagger back. 

“That damn rooster still woke me,” Yennefer said. “Thought it’d be dead after more than a decade.” 

The sorceress huffed. “It’s a different one. The neighbours ate the previous rooster. This one seems to be even louder than its predecessor, however. There is porridge on the counter.” She wrapped the food into roughly spun cloth. There was more variety in the rations than in Yennefer’s own, which were still sitting in her pack. She spotted dried meat, smoked cheese and hard bread, but also packets of dried herbs and fruits. 

“Why have you been running around the house all morning?” Yennefer asked as she picked up the aforementioned bowl of porridge, taking a big spoonful as she leaned against the counter. “I said we should leave as soon as we can, not instantly.” 

“It is best if we leave early,” Tissaia replied. “The road is busy later on the day.” 

“But we’re not going by the main road. There’s this trail that leads from the west side of the swamp, through it, avoiding most large bodies of water that we would need to swim through. Then you don’t have to waste magic on teleporting us everywhere and we don’t lead right into the sites where the wyverns ambush travellers.”

Tissaia waved her hand and shook her head out of frustration. “But one must be prepared for anything, Yennefer.” She took a deep breath in before exhaling calmly. “You don’t know what dangers await us. I’ve spent more than enough time placing my hands on your body in order to heal you, because  **_you_ ** didn’t want to take the time to see through your own situation”

Yennefer remained silent, blinking a few times as her spoon rested against the side of her bowl before stumbling over the only words she could manage to muster up. “I know what you’ve done for me, I wouldn’t be alive otherwise.”

“Good, because everything I’ve been doing over the night is to ensure that we survive this encounter as unscathed as possible,” Tissaia said as she hovered over the items she had laid out for them to collect before their journey. “I understand that you are used to traveling from place to place. Slaying monsters and collecting your coin, not knowing where you will wake up in the morning. I, on the other hand, cannot live like that, which is why I have been running around the house all morning. I like to be as prepared as I can be, when afforded the opportunity.”

“Of course you would, I don’t know you any other way,” Yennefer replied with a sly grin. “You want me to help pack?”    
  
Neatly stacking the food into a linen sack, Tissaia shook her head. “No, I’d rather have it orderly. Your horse, Raven, if I recall correctly… is it secured in a stable in Rinde?”    
  
“I left her at Kaer Morhen. Horses are little good in a soggy swamp. Hence why it took me so long to get here.” Yennefer finished her porridge and placed the bowl next to her. She poured herself a generous cup of apple juice, likely fresh from the garden. It was fun to see Tissaia fuss around the table and pack everything. The woman was quick, reducing the large amount of items to a backpack with a bedroll on top, a few pouches and a belt full of potion vials in a few minutes.    
  
Yennefer also found that she liked seeing Tissaia create order from the pile of gear. It caused her brow to crinkle slightly, lips pressed together in concentration. She didn’t second guess her decision to take the sorceress along, but did find herself wondering just why she had chosen for Tissaia so quickly. There were more witchers in Kaer Morhen than Geralt, and any of them would gladly help her. And yet she had gone to the woman who had saved her life more than a few times. Perhaps it was simply a way to tell her that she remembered and that she cared. 

“I’m going to dress for the hike,” she said. “Not sure what you’re going to wear, but expect it to be colder than in Rinde. And wetter, that too.” 

Her witcher gear was well suited for that. She had chosen to take a cuirass of hard, oiled leather along. It was more waterproof than the one with metal studs on it, and carried steel plates within to reinforce it. Her trousers were leather too, with long, linen underclothes that would dry easily should they get wet. Boots with thick soles and no open buckles on the sides or front would come in handy too. Yennefer felt well prepared when she attached her swords to her pack and shouldered it. Yet she couldn’t have been prepared for Tissaia’s outfit. 

She had only ever seen the woman in dresses. Most with high collars, once without. Some with puffy shoulders and a tightly laced corset, some more free. Once, she had worn a skirt with trousers underneath, but the storm and darkness, and the djinn fight, had prevented Yennefer from paying a lot of attention to it. Now, however, Tissaia looked unlike anything the witcher had seen from her before. 

Instead of a dress, she wore a long, dark brown tunic that reached down to just above her knees. On her belt, she had two pouches on either side, a large one and a smaller one. The dagger that Yennefer had been admiring was attached to the right side of the belt in a sturdy sheath. While the tunic was form fitting, the roundings underneath gave away the presence of some type of body armour. 

Tissaia’s trousers were fairly tight, but they had padding on the outside of her thighs and over her knees. Her boots came up to underneath her knees, sealed close to her legs to keep the water out. They looked to be oiled, and thus waterproof. 

Yennefer realized she was staring when Tissaia turned around to reach for something on the table behind her. The heels of her boots elevated her a little and made a hard clacking sound on the ground when she took a step. She had no reason to look that good in her wyvern hunting gear. 

To top it all off, and make Yennefer suck in a quick breath, Tissaia affixed a dark green mantle around her shoulders, closing the collar with a single button at the base of her throat. She hoisted her backpack up and looked at Yennefer, who was still openly staring at the sorceress. “Well, are you ready?” 

“Yes! Yes, I am,” Yennefer quickly replied. “Where will you teleport us to?” 

“The very end of the trail that you mentioned yesterday. There is a signpost there, I read, so it is easier to focus on for teleportation.” Tissaia adjusted the shoulder straps of her pack, making sure they fit perfectly. 

Yennefer slowly nodded. Apparently the sorceress had ensured she had all the knowledge possible on their location. Of course, because that was very reasonable and to be expected of someone as meticulous as Tissaia. The witcher sucked in a deep breath. They might be slightly overprepared, but everything was better than having a situation similar to what she had experienced with the forktail. As she stepped through Tissaia’s portal, she found that she did not mind all the preparations the woman had taken. 

The first thing Yennefer heard upon exiting the portal was a short, sharp sound from Tissaia’s mouth. It was half in between a disgusted noise and an exclamation, so she turned around in slight alarm. Immediately, she had to fight the smirk that threatened to slip onto her lips. Tissaia pulled her left foot out of a puddle with a resounding slurp, submerged to over her ankle. The face she pulled was one of unabashed disgust. 

Slowly, the fetid smell of decaying plant matter and stale water began to dawn on Yennefer too, though she was much more used to it than Tissaia. “Swamps stink, sorceress,” she said with a laugh. “Should’ve thought twice if that’s going to gross you out.” 

“It doesn’t,” Tissaia said sharply. “It’s just more pungent than I had expected. Where to now?” 

Unfolding the map of the swamp, Yennefer looked up where they were. On the very tip of one of the larger islands in the swamp. A small cross indicated a signpost, which she confirmed was a few feet away from them, where the path stopped. It said:  _ monsters beyond this point, no travellers allowed entry.  _

Shrugging, Yennefer rolled up the map and put it in a waterproof leather container, which she tucked into her armour. “That way,” she said, pointing beyond the sign. Thankfully, Tissaia had no complaints about going into dangerous territory. 

They only hiked a short way over ground that alternated between mats of packed grass and muddy pools. Then they had to hold still, because the land sloped and vanished into a lake. All according to the map, but Yennefer stopped Tissaia when she wanted to cast another portal. She peered into the water and said: “I can see the lake floor. It’s full of plants, but we might be able to wade through. Are you against a swim? We’ve got dry clothes if any water gets in.” 

Tissaia hummed in her throat. In her eyes, Yennefer could see that she had many things against a swim. Instead, the sorceress surprised her, lifting her hand and tapping it on her own pack, then on Yennefer’s. A slight surge of magic travelled over their bags. “A little less water will get in now.” She then motioned for Yennefer to go first. 

“Of course, lest the small sorceress step into a hole,” Yennefer quipped as she cautiously put a foot forward, ignoring the muffled sigh from Tissaia behind her. 

The lake floor was steady enough. It was slippery, however, and the tangle of water plants didn’t do anything to make it better. Still, Yennefer thought it a better option than to have Tissaia teleport them over. She needed the sorceress at full power during the fight, to restrain the wyvern queen.

An uncharacteristic gasp sounded from behind her and Yennefer turned to check on Tissaia, who had her eyes trained on a rippling of water near the sorceress. A fin crested the water then disappeared with a splash.

“Don’t worry about that, It’s just a swamp fish,” Yennefer said as she trudged forward.

Sounding thoroughly unamused, Tissaia replied sharply. “ _ Just _ a swamp fish? What a vague description for something which could be dangerous.”

Yennefer snorted, “there are so many different species of swamp fish, I don’t care to learn their names. As long as it isn’t trying to wrap itself around your ankles and pull you under water, you’ve nothing to worry about.”

“Remind me again why I decided to go along with you on this adventure,” Tissaia said. 

Yennefer detected a slight smirk though the tone of the sorceress’ voice, so she cast a glance over her shoulder, nearly stepping into a hole herself. “Because you missed my good looks and charm? Take heed here, there is a drop in the lake bed.”

Following Yennefer’s path around the hole, she replied, “yes, that must be it.”

The water began to deepen and Tissaia sighed deeply once the water was up to her underarms, trying to avoid the need to completely submerge herself, save for her head, until it was absolutely necessary.

Finally, after a brief swim and only a few encounters with swamp fish, none of them the dangerous variety, they reached the land mass which would lead them to the island. Yennefer chuckled as Tissaia climbed out of the water, drenched from head to toe, and onto the soggy earth wearing a look of relief on her face. A trail of stringy plant matter was tangled around her boot. The sorceress drew the dagger from her belt and quickly cut it away, and tossed it aside.

“It is a good thing wyvern rely more on sight than hearing, you are heavier footed than one would think, I’m certain all of Vizima can hear you sloshing through the muck. Try to step on the vegetation, it will soften the sound. Besides, what am I supposed to do if something happens to you, who will save my ass every time I get into trouble,” Yennefer said as she walked next to Tissaia, scanning the swamplands for threats. Just because there was an island specifically named due to its wyvern population, didn’t mean they all stayed put.

Tissaia hummed. “You could always seek out a former acquaintance of mine, Triss Merigold. She serves the Temerian king and is quite the renowned healer as well. She lives just outside the gates of Vizima, I might visit her after our endeavour. Though I don’t know if her lover, Sabrina, would take kindly to you.”

Just as Yennefer was about to inquire more about Tissaia’s mystery friends, she spotted the end of the land mass. “There,” she said as she pointed across the water to an island. “That looks to be it.”

Straining her eyes, Tissaia peered into the heavily forested island and spotted movement. She removed her pack, pulling out a brass, telescopic spyglass. She looked through it briefly before handing it to Yennefer who did the same.

“That looks like her to me. Looks like she has company with her as well, three… no, four other wyvern.” Yennefer closed the spyglass and handed it back to Tissaia, who slipped it into her pack.

“Perhaps if we separate her from the rest of the wyvern, and lure her here, we would stand a better chance.” 

Yennefer unfastened her own pack and set it on the ground. “Best make camp here then, and rest for the night. Then fight tomorrow.”

She looked on as Tissaia pulled a tent out of her backpack, because of course she had brought one. Both the backpack and the tent looked larger when they stood on the more or less dry ground, and Yennefer had trouble not scoffing when she realized that Tissaia had enchanted them both. Perhaps that was one of the reasons why she had spent so much time preparing for their trip. “You know how to set up a tent,” she remarked. 

“When I was a young student at Aretuza, I went to Skellige with some trainees of the Bear School. Including Coral, who you know too. It was a joint effort of both our schools of education,” Tissaia said as she continued her actions, offering Yennefer a sack of tent pegs. “Coral would not shut up about my inability to do this very task. Whereas my fellow student Philippa, now a sorceress in her own right, had spent half her life before Aretuza on the streets, I had not. Thus I learnt it, purely so she would stop mocking me.” 

Yennefer stamped a peg into the ground, grabbing another and forming an X with both, which was necessary to keep the tent line steady in the soggy ground. “ _ Mhmm _ , I’m no stranger to Coral’s mocking. I’ll never forget the time she came to Kaer Morhen and beat me in wrestling, to the joy of everyone else.” 

A little chuckle escaped Tissaia as the sorceress rolled up the front flap of the tent and attached it with small leather straps to the canvas of the roof. “Do tell me more,” she said as she sat down in the opening, taking off her boots and making her way further into the tent. Then she let down the flap again and added: “I’m going to put on a dry set of clothing. I hope I can trust you not to be too immature.” 

“Fine with me, prude,” Yennefer said, though there was no venom in her words. She gathered a bit of wood to make a fire. A small one, since she did not want to be spotted by the wyverns before dawn. The sun had started to set, and she was glad that they had hiked to their current campsite before it was dark. Even in daylight, the wading and swimming through the lake had been treacherous. Once seated by a simmering fire, accompanied by a dry Tissaia, she continued her story. 

“There’s not much to tell. She came to the keep because she had to deliver a letter to Vesemir. We were messing around in the training grounds when she challenged me. And well… the woman is built like a keg on legs, so I was pinned within minutes.” 

“That is true. She is twice my size in both directions, or so Philippa used to say.” Tissaia was still smiling when she reached into her backpack and pulled out a tiny kettle filled with a linen sack, neatly tied up so nothing could spill out. It was the longest continuous smile that Yennefer had seen on her face. After adding a bit of water from her waterskin, she emptied the contents of the sack into the kettle and placed it on the fire. “This is some sort of soup with oats, dried meat and herbs. I have bread with smoked cheese and ham for tomorrow.” 

“I saw. It’s a lot better than the rations I have.” Sitting down next to the sorceress, Yennefer stretched her muscles. She wasn’t tired from the hike, but wanted to rest well before the fight of tomorrow. 

It felt oddly good to sit in the tent with Tissaia, looking out over the campfire and what they could see of the lake. It felt familiar, as if they had done it more often than the four times they had met. When she stole a quick look at the sorceress, she saw how soft the flickering flames made her face seem. No hard lines of her cheekbones and her jaw, though Yennefer didn’t mind seeing them. She felt a warm twinge in her chest that was decidedly not because of the fire.

“Yes, I’m aware of just how bland those standard witcher rations can be. During my stay in Skellige I had the great pleasure of sampling one. Needless to say, that was the last time I went anywhere unprepared. At the time I thought it was just because they were trainees, therefore received the lowest quality rations. Later down the road I had run into Coral again, eating the same dry hunks of… whatever it is you put in those things.” Tissaia felt a buzzing next to her ear, which she fanned away with her hand.

“The great Tissaia de Vries is always prepared because she doesn’t like to eat food which tastes like wood, cute,” Yennefer chuckled before slapping the skin of her arm as she felt the sting of a mosquito bite.

“I had hoped the smoke from the fire would help keep them under control,” Tissaia said as she jerked her back, crushing the pest with a swift strike of her palm.

Yennefer watched Tissaia as she pulled two travel sized bowls and eating utensils from her pack. Naturally, the sorceress would carry spoons rather than slurp directly from the bowl. She dished the hearty soup into the bowls and handed one to Yennefer, the spoon securely lodged in the oats. She felt the warmth of the sorceress’ fingertips as they accidentally brushed against hers during the exchange.

Tissaia then took her seat next to Yennefer in the tent opening once again. She stirred the medley, watching the steam rise as she did so. She cast a quick glance at Yennefer and was pleased to see that she seemed to be enjoying the rations she had prepared. Her long streak of white hair seemed to glow brilliantly in the fading light, something Tissaia hadn’t noticed before.

Though they ate together in relative silence, it was anything but, for the swamp was lively. Yennefer kept her ears tuned to every sound, for even the faint rustling of leaves could mean a venomous snake was slithering closer to them. She did, however, find the sound of Tissaia grunting out of frustration as she smacked mosquito after mosquito rather amusing.

“They seem to like you quite a bit,” She said as she reached over and casually flicked one away from Tissaia’s ear.

“The feeling is not mutual,” she returned as she ducked her head then smacked another one of the foul beasts which had latched itself to her arm. It was already beginning to itch.

“I’ll take care of the bowls if you’d like to hide in the tent. Should probably get some rest, big day tomorrow,” Yennefer said as she took both bowls and utensils. It didn’t take long until the sorceress had disappeared inside of the tent. She chuckled loudly as she continued to hear Tissaia uttering what she thought might have been an expletive, followed by a series of slapping sounds. “It is a well known fact that you don’t leave a tent flap open in a swamp.”

“That would have been nice to know beforehand.”

Yennefer entered the tent, removing her boots and leaving them just outside. She could hear the buzzing of who knows how many mosquitoes inside the tent.

“Close the flap,” Tissaia barked as she sat up, snapping her fingers and uttering a few words Yennefer didn’t understand as soon as she did so.

The interior of the tent fell silent. “Did you just kill all the mosquitoes in the tent with magic?” Yennefer asked as she laid on her bedroll, propping herself up on an elbow as she faced Tissaia.

“Yes, I did,” the sorceress replied as she raised an eyebrow then smoothed out her blanket and laid back.

Yennefer shrugged then closed her eyes, drifting off to the sound of Tissaia breathing near her and rustling under her blanket to scratch her bites.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The upcoming two chapters are our personal favourites, and if you know us, you know what that means... >:)


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> THIS CHAPTER INCLUDES SOUNDTRACK, NARRATION AND ART!! 
> 
> The long awaited wyvern fight. Yennefer and Tissaia put a lot of effort into this, but does it go as well as they had planned?

[Greypaws](https://soundcloud.com/user-100350749) · [SW Chapter 10](https://soundcloud.com/user-100350749/sw-chapter-10)

_(Narration by Greypaws!)_

* * *

[brazenedMinstrel](https://soundcloud.com/user-768938233) · [Still Waters - Wyvern fight](https://soundcloud.com/user-768938233/still-waters-wyvern-fight)

_(Soundtrack by brazenedMinstrel!)_

* * *

Yennefer woke up when Tissaia softly shook her from slumber. The sorceress had braided her hair before going to sleep, so it wouldn’t become too messy. Her face was a welcome sight to see first thing in the morning, even if her eyebrows were pinched together and her mouth was pursed. 

“What’s the problem?” Yennefer slurred, licking her lips, which had gone dry in the night. 

“The wyverns,” Tissaia replied, nodding her head backwards to the tent flap. “They are being unusually noisy. I heard them sometimes during the night, but not quite this loudly. I think they might have seen us.”

Shuffling out of her sleeping bag, Yennefer knelt down next to the tent flap, peeking through the little gap between the two buttons that Tissaia had opened along its sides. She blinked the sleep out of her eyes to clear her vision. As Tissaia had noted, there was more ruckus on the island across the lake than the evening prior. Yennefer gladly accepted the spyglass that Tissaia handed to her. 

“If they’d taken offense to us, they’d have attacked in the night or even before sunset, yesterday,” the witcher said. “We’re in the shadow of the trees, and I doubt the fire was big enough to smell. Look, can you see what they’re doing?” 

She let Tissaia take her place by the opening of the tent. The sorceress looked even smaller when she was crouching, and Yennefer nearly chuckled. “They’re about to take flight. The queen wyvern, Moa… is she tasking them to do that?” 

“I think so. She must send them out to the trade route for easy food, which they then carry back to the lair, I think. Look, two of them are going now.” 

Yennefer opened the flap on the opposite side, squinting against the morning light as she looked at the wyvern isle. On the shore, two of the draconids were emerging from the forest, shaking their heads and unfolding their wings, flapping in preparation for takeoff. Even from this distance, Yennefer could see the differences between them and the larger one the people called Moa. While these sported only a crest of ridges on their heads and two small horns, the queen wyvern had two additional sets of curved horns. She was also nearly twice as big as her underlings, towering over the shrubbery with ease. 

“I’m glad I have you with me,” Yennefer murmured. “I can’t beat that thing on my own.” 

“And I’m glad you are so humble about it.” As she put the spyglass beside her, Tissaia rolled up the flap and seated herself next to Yennefer. The warmth of her body was a welcome reprieve from the cold air, and a slight distraction from the draconids. “It seems as if there is only one other wyvern on the island left, along with the queen.” 

“ _ Hmm _ , you’re right. It’s to guard the eggs. Wyverns aren’t as attentive parents as forktails or dragons.” Narrowing her eyes, Yennefer observed the wyverns as they snapped their jaws at the sky before pushing their weight off the ground with their legs. It was debatable if their wings could be called true legs, since they were not really capable of walking on them. They were too short to properly reach the ground, much less support their weight. 

The two wyverns flew a half circle around the island, close enough to the tent that the witcher could hear the rush of wind under their wings. Tissaia cringed ever so slightly next to her. When Yennefer looked over, she had smoothed out her features again, but her body language still betrayed her fear. “It’ll be fine,” Yennefer said in an attempt to comfort her. She hadn’t done so since her training days with Geralt, so she was sorely out of practice. “If we can keep the other one on the island, there’s only one we have to deal with.” 

When flying low over the lake, one of the wyverns opened its jaws and skimmed the water for a drink. After chucking a big gulp of water down its gullet, it flew off into the distance with its companion. Yennefer exited the tent with a sigh, hoping it was the last day that they would go to the road through the swamp. “The colony will fall apart when we’ve killed Moa. The others don’t want to care for her eggs when she’s dead, so they’ll separate and go their own way. Now, we must fight her before the other two come back, so if you want to grab some water from your waterskin and wash, now is the time. Don’t worry, I won’t look.” 

“How very courteous of you,” Tissaia said as she rummaged around in her backpack and pulled it out, taking a cloth and a stack of clothing with her outside the tent. 

Yennefer put on her gear, then helped herself to the bread, ham and cheese while Tissaia washed and dressed. She saw the woman’s green mantle peek out from under her sleeping bag. The fabric was finely woven and soft under her fingers when she grabbed it. A golden thread was embroidered on the edge of it in a fine pattern of loops and knots, which Yennefer followed with her finger. On the button that closed the collar, the heraldry of Rinde was stamped into the metal, then the surface had been gilded. 

“I would appreciate if you didn’t get crumbs on it,” Tissaia said as she entered the tent, holding out her hand for the mantle. “Or cheese, or chunks of dried fruit. The latter is in one of the pouches, if you want some.” 

“Yeah, could use some sugar before the fight.” Yennefer tossed some dried figs into her mouth and looked on as Tissaia began unpacking things from her backpack. Potions, the medical kit, oils and more. She set them in front of Yennefer, listing off their names. 

A rounded glass pot with a yellowish liquid. “Draconid oil to apply to your silver sword, enough for a full coating.” 

Yennefer immediately reached around to her backpack for the oiling rag, while Tissaia set an assortment of potions on the canvas floor. One of the wyverns on the island made a sound, causing the both of them to look through the tent opening. Luckily, the wyvern queen was only scratching herself on the stony shore of her island. “Fortifying potion, draught against the cold. Drink them before the battle. These three are health potions, I want you to keep them in your belt.” 

“Damn, I want support like you on every mission,” Yennefer said as she tucked the three vials in her belt. 

“Not a chance. I’ll leave the medical kit just outside the tent, but I can summon it to my hand if need be. Otherwise, what is our strategy?”

“Your part in the battle will be to restrain the wyvern with magic. Make sure she doesn’t fly away, because I didn’t bring a crossbow. Another very important task for you is this. The wyvern has a tail with poisonous spikes. If that gets in my blood, I’m done fighting, golden oriole or not. Just keep it away from me at all costs.” Yennefer fished two vials of the yellow antidote out of her backpack and moved them over the canvas floor to Tissaia. “One for me, one for you. Don’t break it, like I did with the forktail.

She gazed at the island, remaining silent as she pondered over their plan to separate the two wyverns. “They have good eyesight, but are also sensitive to vibrations.”

“How enlightening,” Tissaia said as she arched a brow.

Yennefer rummaged around in her pack until she pulled out a tightly corked vial with a dark liquid inside and a second, smaller vial with brilliant azure stones. “If you would just humour me for a moment,” she said as she held both vials with what appeared to be an extreme amount of care.

“Very well, Lady witcher, tell me about your plan.”

“How long can you hold a portal open?” Yennefer asked as she strode closer to the shore of the swamp.

“Do you intend to use me as bait?”

“Not this time,” the witcher smirked.

“A stable portal? No more than five minutes at a time, they are only meant to serve as a brief gateway between two points. Anything more than that and you risk being disintegrated once you step through. That or you may find yourself falling from the sky somewhere above Aretuza.” Tissaia replied as she cast a suspicious look towards the witcher.

Yennefer’s eyes widened at that thought of both outcomes. “Right, I won’t need any longer than a minute,” she said as she held up the vial with the dark liquid. “Can you hold a portal open for me near the smaller wyvern, the one protecting the eggs? I only need enough time to distract it with this, then I’ll return through the portal and lure the other one to our location with this.” She held the smaller vial up, its blue stones shimmered in the light.

“Can you at least explain to me what those are?” Tissaia demanded as she pulled the cork out of the vial of golden oriole and downed the potion, then shifted into a caster’s stance.

“They are both explosives, triggered once the vial is shattered.”

Tissaia’s jaw fell open as she exclaimed, “you’ve been carrying explosives in your pack this entire time?”

“Yes, now will you just open the portal and trust me?

Tissaia frowned at the thought of Yennefer running into danger without a well thought out plan. She had never been one for improvisation, but there options did seem to be limited, therefore she felt as if she had little choice but to go along with whatever scheme Yennefer had concocted.

She held out her hand and uttered an incantation, a portal leading to a heavily forested area near the guardian wyvern burst into life. Yennefer stepped through without hesitation and she could see her stalking closer to the wyvern through her magical window. It’s power fluctuated, but she held it open according to plan.

Yennefer stepped lightly through the swampy soil, taking care not to cause any vibrations which might cause the wyvern to come after her. She looked over her shoulder. Moa was wading in the shallows of the water, catching fish with its razor sharp teeth as they attempted to breed near the shore.

A deep, rumbling sound emanated from the younger wyvern’s throat as it paced about near the nest. While it may not have had much of a connection over the nest, there was still the instinct to protect the brood. An instinct Yennefer was glad to take advantage of.

She clutched the explosive liquid in her hand and drew it back, throwing it in the opposite direction of Moa and into thick swamp brush. Upon impact with the ground, it exploded. She chuckled to herself as it wasn’t nearly as dangerous as Tissaia likely thought it was, but it was enough to grab the attention of the smaller beast.

She roared and spread her wings, beating them a few times as she hovered defensively over the clutch of eggs before taking off to investigate the explosion. Yennefer turned sharply on her heel, rushing back through the portal. She observed Moa just before she stepped through. It had turned its head towards the nest momentarily, then returned to snacking on the smaller fish while it waited for the rest of its flock to return.

Tissaia released the portal as soon as she stepped through and it dissipated instantaneously.

Yennefer picked up a stone and threw the smaller vial into the air over the water, in the direction of the wyvern. Hoping that her aim was still true, she pelted the vial with the stone, causing it to flash brightly and capturing the attention of Moa as she trudged through the shallow water.

She screeched and flew into the air, flying towards the shimmering smoke which lingered in the air until she spotted Yennefer waving her silver sword. The taste of magic in the air increased as Tissaia prepared to ensnare it. 

It was apparent how massive it was as it hovered for a few moments. It seemed unnatural that it could do so, given its wings were nothing compared to the size of a dragon’s wings, but the sheer strength with which it was able to do so was likely the reason. Another shrieking sound tore from its throat and it shifted its position and opened its wings, gliding at both of them at top speed.

“Remember, Tissaia, do not let it control the sky. It will be clunkier on the ground, keep it there if you can.” Yennefer reiterated as she prepared herself to fight.

“And keep its tail away from you, yes, I was paying attention.”

Suddenly it veered directions in the sky and Tissaia cast her spell, ensnaring it with her magic. It snapped its razor sharp teeth as it struggled to break free. The sorceress felt the strain as the great beast pulled against her hold on it. It wasn’t pleased to be dragged to the ground in such a manner.

Tissaia released the spell once it was nearly on the ground, careful to reserve her chaos when she could. The beast tumbled to its side, landing in a large puddle of swamp water. It shook its head, once it pulled itself upright, flinging mud from its massive horns before opening its wings in another attempt to fly up into the air.

Quickly, Tissaia ensnared it again and pulled it to the ground. This time, it made no attempt to fly. Instead it lowered its head and began to charge at the sorceress. The earth shook beneath her feet as it did so.

Before it could come too close to her, Yennefer dove in front of the angry wyvern and rolled to her feet. She activated Quen as the extra protective barrier couldn’t hurt, being as close to its horns as she was now. Moa charged once again, this time at her.

She struck the great beast hard with her silver sword, but it’s thick hide showed nary a scratch as it turned around, poised to strike with its tail in return. Yennefer noticed a hue of magic shimmering along the tail and she knew Tissaia was restraining it. It snapped at its tail, the enemy it couldn’t see served as a distraction, allowing Yennefer to get closer for another blow. Again, it did little and Yennefer had a feeling this battle would need to be won through attrition. 

She backed up quickly, casting Aard as it barrelled at her again. It let out a powerful roar, neck stretched and head up in the sky. It beat its wings again in an attempt to take flight, but Tissaia was prepared to cast another snare before it could lift off the ground. 

The sorceress clenched her hands into fists and raised her arms as she wrapped her magic in bands around the wyvern’s neck and wings. Gritting her teeth, she brought her arms downwards sharply, pulling the creature to the ground. It crashed into the vegetation to Yennefer’s left, growling and shrieking at the witcher and Tissaia. Its mouth was a red hole filled with sharp teeth and a horrible stench that carried on its roar. 

“Keep it busy, I have to get it through its mouth or its eyes!” Yennefer yelled over the draconid’s screech. “I can’t get close for long enough to cut its skin deeply.” 

Moa charged again, stopping at the last second. Its claws dug deep gouges into the earth as it whipped around, striking with its tail at a blinding speed. A barrier of magic enveloped her, the tail bouncing off of it. Then another strand of magic thickened around its neck and pulled its head to the right, away from Yennefer. 

“Strike, Yennefer!” Tissaia called out. “I can’t restrain it forever!” 

Yennefer aimed her sword at the wyvern’s eye, resting the flat of the blade on her bracer for stability as she crouched slightly. The tendons in the creature’s neck strained against the magic with a jerk of its head. From the corner of her eye, Yennefer saw Tissaia slide forward over the swampy ground, digging her heels into the soil so she wasn’t tugged off her feet. There was not much time, so she leapt forward. 

Piercing the wyvern’s eye was more difficult than it seemed. Once again, it avoided her blow with a sharp movement, causing the point to catch in the corner of its eye, drawing a bloody streak over the skin there and nearly wrenching the sword from Yennefer’s hand. The magic binds snapped and Tissaia stumbled. 

In an instant, the creature focused on her. Yennefer cursed and cast Igni, hoping the flame would distract it. She was right, but it also belted out a flame of its own. As she rolled to the side to avoid it, Tissaia flung a bolt of magic at the back of its head. In her haste to dodge the fire, Yennefer fell onto a rock with her shoulder. She grunted, hastily pulling a healing draught out of her belt so it wouldn’t bruise and stiffen. 

She got to her feet, narrowly sidestepping a wing armed with a razor sharp claw. For its size, the wyvern queen was fast. It didn’t seem to tire either. Jaws full of teeth snapped at her. Once, twice, so quickly that Yennefer couldn’t jam her sword into its mouth to end it. The tail struck at her, shearing over her head. 

“Tissaia! I told you to-” Yennefer began, but stopped once the wyvern suddenly reared backwards, shrieking and slashing the air with claws and wings. Behind it, Tissaia was standing. One hand outstretched, the other clenched into a fist. Her eyes glowed with the energy of her spell as the bands of magic around the wyvern began to sparkle. Wind rippled the fabric of her mantle and tugged strands of hair out of her bun. 

“Yennefer!” she called out. “Get down!” 

Not one to doubt Tissaia’s power, for she knew better, Yennefer dropped to the ground. Seconds later, several trees close to her were torn out. They went flying, slamming into the wyvern and sending it towards the lake. A great wave of water was thrown up into the air when the wyvern queen went under. 

Tissaia swayed where she stood, opening her clenched hand and dropping a vial from it. She had taken one of their magic enhancing potions, Yennefer saw. She sped towards the sorceress, who was panting harshly, wiping the blood from her nose. “It can still stand in the shallow water,” she said to Yennefer. “It will be upon us shortly again.” 

“Okay, change of plans,” Yennefer huffed, downing another health potion and a fortifying one in rapid succession while Tissaia drew up her eyebrows. 

“I’m not sure if I encourage rapid changes of our plan,” she said, pursing her lips in a way Yennefer had become well acquainted with.    
  


“Well, you can’t hold it down with magic long enough.” 

“Draconids are always hard to wrangle. Their thick skin and resilience to magic make my job harder than you think.” Tissaia grabbed her last enhancement potion and swallowed the bitter substance. “But you are the hunter here. What is your plan?” 

In the lake, Moa emerged from the water, wading through the shallows, spreading its wet wings and shrieking at full volume. It barrelled towards them, blood running down one side of its face. 

“Throw everything that you have at it. Paralyse it or something. Keep it in one place for however long you can,” Yennefer said as she readied her sword. “And don’t let it get on land, or it will try to trample us again. Let’s get some wet feet, sorceress.” She grinned slyly as Tissaia pulled a face of disgust before following her into the shallows.

“I’m sending you a bill for my laundry,” Tissaia said as she held her hands out before her, palms facing up. She searched beneath the murky waters for something she could use to aid her, an energy she could displace. She felt the energy of a thousand roots growing under the muck and called to it. Purple tendrils of magic shot out of the water, wrapping themselves around the powerful legs of the wyvern and holding her in place.

Yennefer could see the strained look on Tissaia’s face as she held the spell, the vines of magic were trying to spread to its wings as well, but stopped short. She trudged forward, narrowly avoiding the jaws of the beast as they snapped in her face. Then, it opened its wings and beat them down hard. Her reflexes again kept her from harm’s way as she jumped backward, her feet sinking in the soft soil of the shallow lake.

The sorceress felt a gnawing worry in the pit of her stomach as she watched Yennefer dodging blow after blow from the wyvern, each attack from the creature becoming more desperate and more powerful as the fight wore on. The monster would win if she was unable to hold it’s head and wings still enough in order for Yennefer to deal a fatal strike.

So, she reached deep inside of herself, tapping into raw chaos and throwing it into the spell. She felt it burning away at her strength as she enhanced the reach of the magical vine locked around the wyvern’s legs. They spread up into its wings and around its neck until it could only manage to use its powerful jaws to snap at the witcher and shriek in anger. A red eye affixed itself on her and Tissaia could feel it pulling hard against her magical bonds. Her powers were beginning to wane.

“I can’t hold this forever. Anytime you would like to kill this thing would be nice,” Tissaia said with a strained voice. 

Yennefer gripped her silver sword tightly, the sheen of draconid oil she had applied to her sword had worn off during the seemingly never ending fight, but she could make out the slightest streaks which remained. She hoped it would be enough to help.

The water splashed as she moved through it to get closer to the head of the beast. Some of the tendrils of Tissaia’s magic had begun to recede. The wyvern towered over her, something she used to her advantage as she thrust her sword with all of her strength into the fleshy underside of its jaw at an angle which would put its sharp point in line with the creature’s brain, in an attempt to impale it.

The mat of hair along the wyvern’s jaw began to turn crimson as Yennefer continued to push the sword through its skull, the motion was accompanied by a cracking sound which Yennefer didn’t care to hear. Neither did she want to hear the roar which came from its throat as it struggled against the injury, powerful muscles moving against Tissaia’s snare. Wisps of purple magic drifted in the air as the sorceress started to exhaust the last of her power.

“I’ve almost got it,” Yennefer shouted as she used every muscle in her body to shove the sword the rest of the way through, the point coming out of the top of the dying monster’s head.

Tissaia staggered back, fighting to keep the remaining bonds in place until it fell into the water and ceased to move. She could feel a trickle of blood run from her nose as the last of the magical roots dissipated into a fine purple mist which was then carried off by the wind.

Yennefer withdrew her sword from the wyvern’s skull and lurched backwards as it began to stumble forward. Being crushed to death by a dead monster wasn’t on her list of things to do today.

Just as it was about to crash into the water it caught itself, bringing up its front leg and slashing at Yennefer with its hooked talons. She brought a hand to her face as she felt warm blood spilling from a slash it had inflicted across her face. The pain of it burned from her forehead, between her eyes and across her cheek.

Her own blood clouded her vision, but not enough so that she couldn’t witness Tissaia rushing towards her and calling her name. And certainly not enough so she couldn’t see the final attempt made by the wyvern to take to the sky. A powerful wing knocked Tissaia off her feet, throwing her into the air and landing her in deeper water.

“Tissaia!” Yennefer felt her heart jump into her throat at the sight. The place where the sorceress had stood just moments ago, empty. There was no sign of movement, only a rising of bubbles to the surface of the brown sludge of the swamp water. The fight had agitated the already dirty lake, making it impossible to see Tissaia’s small form.

She withdrew her bone handle dagger and plunged it into the beast’s red eye, removing it quickly and ignoring the water which splashed on her back once it fell.

Her breath came in quick frantic gasps as she made her way to where Tissaia had been thrown, but blood poured from her wound and into her eyes. She stopped to wipe it away and to look for the bubbles once again.

“Tissaia, where are you?  **_Please!_ ** ” she begged the sorceress, hoping to see the familiar head of dark hair rise from the water and demand that they leave immediately, so they could bathe and change into clean clothes.

But she didn’t see that, nor anything close to it.

All she saw were still waters.

* * *

[brazenedMinstrel](https://soundcloud.com/user-768938233) · [Still Waters - Wyvern fight](https://soundcloud.com/user-768938233/still-waters-wyvern-fight)

_(Soundtrack by brazenedMinstrel!)_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, now you know where the title comes from >:)  
> We're not sorry. 
> 
> Also live and let ship, please.


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The battle with the wyvern queen is over, but now Tissaia must fight something else.

[brazenedMinstrel](https://soundcloud.com/user-768938233) · [Still Waters - Fever Scene](https://soundcloud.com/user-768938233/still-waters-fever-scene)

_(Soundtrack by brazenedMinstrel)_

* * *

[Greypaws](https://soundcloud.com/user-100350749) · [Still Waters Chapter 11](https://soundcloud.com/user-100350749/still-waters-chapter-11)

_(Narration by Greypaws!)_

* * *

Yennefer didn’t hesitate a moment before diving into the swampy waters. The impact sent a flash of pain along the slash over her face, but she didn’t stop for a moment with swimming towards where she had seen Tissaia go under. 

Her heart raced in her chest as she dove. The water was surprisingly deep, and she could just make out a forest of water plants on the lakebed, amidst the churning mud. Even with her enhanced sight, it was extremely hard to spot anything but green stalks and brown goop. Yennefer felt around with her hands, but she touched nothing but cold, slimy mud and the occasional piece of driftwood embedded in it. Eventually, she had to come up for air. Despite her witcher mutations, her lungs felt as if they would burst. 

Gasping, inhaling the stale air of the swamp, she just held herself back from cursing loudly and wasting her breath. If  _ she _ had trouble staying under, she couldn’t imagine how a mere human sorceress like Tissaia was holding up. The thought of her drowning sent another surge of panic through her, and she submerged herself again. 

All of her swimming around hadn’t done anything to make the waters any less clouded. Yennefer strained her eyes to make out any sign of the sorceress’ pale skin, yet found nothing. She cast Quen, hoping that her shield would brush against any obstruction. 

There, she felt something pushing against the magic. Desperately, she hoped it wasn’t another piece of wood or a rock. Reaching into the muddy water, she felt soft fabric under her hands. She felt her heart seize as she pulled it upwards, grabbing onto more folds of cloth until she saw Tissaia’s pale face emerge from the cloud of mud. Yennefer slung an arm around the smaller woman’s waist and swam for the surface. 

Once there, she turned on her back, keeping Tissaia’s face above the water by resting a hand on either side of her chin. She didn’t stop swimming until she hit the lakebed with her heels as she kicked in the water. When standing up and carrying Tissaia the last few feet, she felt how exhausted she truly was. Her muscles burned from the fight and the rescue attempt, and she was panting harshly when sinking to her knees to lay Tissaia down on the soggy waterside soil. 

The sorceress was pale, as all the blood had drained from her face to conserve the life within her. A thin stream of water dripped from her nose. Yennefer spotted a large tear in her wet mantle and tunic, that revealed a deep gash in her right shoulder. Blood sluggishly welled up from it, soaking the fabric further. Cursing the wyvern queen, who laid dead in the shallows, Yennefer grabbed the dagger from Tissaia’s belt and cut away the mantle. When she brushed over Tissaia’s neck in doing so, she felt her heart freeze in her chest. 

Tissaia wasn’t breathing.

“No! Tissaia!” Yennefer called out as her eyes widened. She rolled Tissaia’s head to the side and placed a hand on her chin, opening her mouth. Copious amounts of dirty water mixed with plant material drained out. Her hand shook as she brought it to her own mouth, biting the tips of her glove and pulling it off. She searched along the sorceress’ pulse point in her throat with her fingers which were trembling. No life stirred in Tissaia’s body.

The blood from her facial wound dripped onto Tissaia as she hovered over her, tilting her head back and lifting her chin. It had been so long since she had performed this kind of life saving technique, but everything she needed to remember about it seemed to resurface quickly. The stakes were too high to forget anything, not while Tissaia’s life hung in the balance.

Using her thumb and forefinger, she pinched the unresponsive woman’s nostrils shut and took in a deep breath, one which she transferred into Tissaia’s lungs by holding open her jaw and forming a tight seal around her mouth with her own. She broke the seal only to fill her own lungs with air once again, emptying the air into the sorceress until she had nothing left.

“You can’t die, I won’t let you.” The panic in her voice was apparent but it didn’t matter. Tissaia’s eyes were half open, staring blankly into the sky. Yennefer couldn’t look away from them as she interlaced her fingers and centered her palm over Tissaia’s heart, coming down forcefully at an even rhythm until she had counted for a half minute.

She leaned in, pressing her ear against Tissaia’s lips and watched her chest, hoping to see it rise and fall. It didn’t.

An inhuman growl found its way from the back of her throat as she tried again, passing the air from her lungs into Tissaia’s. Her lips were cold and had a bluish tint to them, her face smeared with Yennefer’s blood. But her lifeless eyes were what haunted Yennefer the most. Even as she closed her own to give Tissaia her breath, she saw them. Dull and empty.

The sorceress remained unresponsive, yet Yennefer continued relentlessly. Even as the muscles in her arms burned and she feared she would crack Tissaia’s ribs from the force of her efforts. A pleading sob escaped her as she said the woman’s name. “Please Tissaia, not like this.”

As if all she needed to do was to ask kindly, Tissaia’s body lurched and she began coughing. She rolled on her side, choking and gasping for air. Her breaths were deep and harsh, her fingers dug into the mud as she tried to regain herself.

Yennefer leaned back on her knees and looked to the sky. She closed her eyes, relieved to hear the horrible sounds of Tissaia trying to catch her breath. She was alive. Tissaia de Vries was alive.

“You-” Tissaia started to speak but was interrupted by another coughing fit.

Yennefer hunched over her, leaning in closer so the sorceress wouldn’t need to exert herself just to say a few words. “What is it Tissaia?”

“You're hurt… your face.” Tissaia’s pale hand reached for Yennefer’s wound.

Yennefer stopped her advance, taking her hand into her own and bringing it away from the still bleeding gash inflicted by the wyvern. She knew the sorceress all too well.

“My face will be fine, but you need treatment and rest. It is my turn to take care of you,” Yennefer said as she pulled a healing potion from her belt. It was their last one. She wrapped an arm around Tissaia’s shoulders and propped her up, holding her close to her chest as she held the vial to her lips until she had consumed the entire potion. The wound on her shoulder closed slightly, slowing the bleeding to a trickle.

Once she had finished the potion, she made an attempt to sit up further.   
  
“Save your strength. I’m going to carry you, and I don’t want to hear any complaints out of you either,” Yennefer said as she slipped her other arm underneath Tissaia’s knees and then stood.

She noticed how small Tissaia felt as she cradled her in her arms. Tissaia’s blue eyes found hers and she let out an audible sigh of relief. While they were bloodshot, they had life in them once again.

Tissaia quirked the corner of her mouth just slightly, never before had she seen such concern in the witcher’s yellow eyes. She opened her hand and weakly held it to the side. Her voice was raspy and her throat raw, but she managed a few words. “Then let me at least open a portal to the main road, I’m sure there is an inn somewhere near.”

Yennefer nodded her head and looked at their encampment. Later, she would come back to retrieve her equipment. Now was not the time. She watched as tendrils of swamp water were swept up from the ground and formed a ring around the portal which had slowly coalesced into existence. It’s slow formation was telling of just how little the sorceress had left. She stepped through the portal as quickly as she could once it had fully formed, not wanting Tissaia to use any more of her energy than necessary.

There was indeed an inn closeby. The final one before the road cut into the swamp. It looked shoddy, sagging to one side a little, its painted front faded and peeling. Yennefer didn’t even want to kick the door open, in any case she’d put her boot right through it. As she shoved it open with her shoulder, the smell of stale beer and a poorly maintained hearth hit her in the face. It was the best place she could take Tissaia to, at the moment. 

The innkeeper, a man almost wider than he was tall, with bags under his eyes and an unshaven face, regarded her with hostility. “We don’t serve your kind ‘round these parts, witcher,” he mumbled, turning away from her and walking to the back of the bar. He didn’t even pay attention to the unconscious woman in Yennefer’s arms. 

With a sigh, Yennefer shifted Tissaia, so she held her with one arm. She drew her dagger with the bone handle and jammed it hard into the counter, with such force that one of the tankards on it fell to the ground. The few patrons that were in the tavern perked up instantly. 

“Listen,” she called after the innkeep. “One night, it’s all I ask. I just killed the wyvern queen that’s been eating your clients. I saw the warrant hanging near the entrance. The kingly quest to take it out.” 

Grabbing a pouch with coins from her belt, she fixed the man with her eyes. The pouch, as with everything on her, was soaked through with swamp water. Yennefer hoped that it would at least convince the innkeep of that fact that she wasn’t lying. “Tomorrow morning, I’ll rent a horse from you and I’ll be out of here. You have my word. That’s plenty of money for the horse and the room, right there.” 

A few moments passed, in which she could only barely suppress the rising panic from showing in her face. She knew she likely looked disastrous, with her bloody facial injury and muddy clothing. Just as she was about to threaten the innkeep, he reached for the coin, grabbing the purse by its thread so as to not touch the stinking cloth. “Fine. Don’t make a mess. And if that over there dies in my inn, you clean it up.” 

Yennefer bit the inside of her lip to avoid telling him just who it was she was holding. Not that it would help, likely. An associate of a witcher was probably just as bad as a witcher. She grabbed the key that he slammed onto the counter and headed to the rooms. 

Once inside the small, dusty room, she laid Tissaia down onto the thin mattress and immediately closed the window. It was cold, a wind whipped into the room. No matter how questionable the inn was, it was some protection from the elements, and Yennefer was glad. 

“Don’t worry, it’ll be okay now. I’ll make sure you’re warm. You’ll feel a lot better tomorrow,” she softly said to Tissaia. 

The sorceress wasn’t conscious. It concerned Yennefer, even though her breathing was relatively steady. As she lit the hearth and peeled her wet jerkin off, spreading it over a chair to dry, she couldn’t help but think back to the moment when Tissaia hadn’t been breathing at all. 

She regretted having left their packs behind, but there was no way to go back now. She couldn’t hike the distance to their encampment before nightfall, and she knew very well that the swamp was dangerous after dark, even for a witcher. 

Emptying her pockets, she assessed what she had to treat Tissaia with. A few packets of healing herbs, bandages that were soaked with lake water, a curved needle and sewing thread that was just as wet. She threw most of it on the ground in front of the hearth. Apart from the herbs, the gear was useless. Uttering a soft curse, Yennefer knelt down beside the bed. 

“Tissaia… all my healing things have gone to shit because of the water. I have some herbs against the bleeding, but all the bandages are wet and muddy.” Carefully, she removed Tissaia’s thick tunic, hanging it over the foot end of the bed. Boots and socks were next. 

“I hope you’ll forgive me for this,” she said to the unconscious woman. “Don’t think I’m indecent, it’s just not good to wear wet clothing.” She stripped the cold, wet trousers from Tissaia’s legs and tucked the blanket over them. The wind from the cloth made a distinct smell of swamp water waft upwards from the clothing, making Yennefer realize just how disgusting it was. 

Next, she got Tissaia out of her shirt, baring her pale throat and her wounded shoulder. The slice from the wing was deep, but the healing potion she’d made Tissaia drink seemed to have helped. Underneath her shirt, Tissaia wore some kind of top. Miraculously, it was dry, as were the bindings around her breasts. When Yennefer carefully removed the top, she felt a tingle of magic under her fingers. “Clever mage,” she said. “You waterproofed more than just our packs.” 

Tissaia’s chest, what Yennefer could see from it, was coloured with bruises. The area from her collarbones to where the wrappings covered the rest, it was all red, purple and blue. A sting went through the witcher’s chest, for it was her fault. The amount of force she had used to help Tissaia’s heart start beating anew had caused such damage. 

It was preferable over having the sorceress dead, Yennefer thought to herself. 

She looked at the dry undershirt in her hands. Cutting strips off it, she gathered enough for a bandage. The rest would do well to clean the wound with. From a pail in the corner of the room, where a bathtub also stood, she retrieved some water. After having soaked the cloth, she brought it to Tissaia’s shoulder to clean away the blood. 

A muted sound came from the sorceress’ mouth, high and pained. Yennefer murmured an apology under her breath, placing a finger on either side of the wound and holding it open so she could remove the bits of plant matter and mud. Then she crumbled the herbs in her hands and added water to them, kneading until they were a rough paste. 

Tissaia jerked when Yennefer applied it to her wound. She kicked, striking the plank on the end of the bed with her foot. “Sit still, you idiotic mage,” Yennefer scorned her. “You nearly drowned on me, I’m not letting you fuss now.” 

There was more concern than anger in her voice, especially when Tissaia’s breathing sped up and she threw her head to the side when Yennefer bandaged the injury.    
  
She had never seen the uptight mage this vulnerable. There was something deeply saddening about Tissaia’s limp form, helpless and in pain. Yennefer found herself wishing that she could do anything else to help with that pain. 

If she had any, she’d usually suck it up and grit her teeth for a few days. Or, in the last decade or so, she had gotten used to Tissaia popping up and healing her the easy way. 

Sighing, she sat down on the bed and moved some of Tissaia’s hair away from her face. She should wash her, but there was not enough water to fill the bath and Yennefer wasn’t going to look for the well around the inn. She had gotten enough stinkeyes to last her another decade. 

Thus she remained sitting on the bed, not entirely sure what to do next. As long as Tissaia was passed out, she couldn’t ask the woman if she wanted anything. Nor did she know how to provide her with anything. The last time she had truly cared for an injured person was when she’d been on a graveir hunt with Doralis and Lark, and the latter had broken her leg. 

With another deep sigh, she stood up and removed her own boots and socks. Her toes were wrinkled from the water. They also smelled of the swamp, as did the rest of her. 

Taking another look at the pail, she noted that there was at least enough water to rinse her hair. Hanging with her head above the wooden tub, she poured some onto her black locks, combing through them. Bits of water plants and grains of sand stuck between her fingers. She dried her hair with her shirt, before hanging it back over the chair and warming herself by the hearth for a few moments. 

Looking at Tissaia would do neither of them any good. Yennefer knew this, but she still spent quite some time doing so, until the sun had started to dip below the horizon. At least the sorceress seemed to rest relatively peacefully. Every now and then, she tossed her head to the side and groaned, but that seemed normal behaviour for an injured person. A person who didn’t have the kind of enhanced body that Yennefer had, which was exactly why she found it hard to ascertain. 

A trip downstairs should be alright, she eventually decided. If she was quick, she could get them some food without leaving Tissaia alone for too long. Yennefer put on her boots and started her way to the tavern. 

The food she brought upstairs a few minutes later was disappointing to say the least. Two bowls of something that a gaunt kitchen maid had passed off as soup. Oats and bits of questionable meat, floating in a greyish broth that smelled more of salt than anything else. At least it seemed to be cooked through and through, so Yennefer assumed it safe to eat. Still, it was nothing compared to what she needed to eat after a hunt, nor was it the right type of food for Tissaia.

The sorceress needed some kind of sustenance, however, so the disgusting slop would have to do. The bed dipped down as she sat on it beside Tissaia, who groaned weakly and turned her head to look at her, eyes still bloodshot. She set her bowl down on the small table next to the bed. 

"I've brought some… food," Yennefer said as she looked at the lumpy mess of a meal. She was almost ashamed to offer it to the tired and injured woman, especially after having sampled her culinary skills over the years.

Tissaia blinked slowly, her eyes shifted to the bowl as she licked her dry, cracked lips. Yennefer had never seen the sorceress exert such magical force as she did during that battle. It hurt to see her so drained and helpless. She wondered how long it would take for her to recover from such exhaustion. 

"Just because I'm nearly depleted doesn't mean I can't smell. That's not food, and you need a bath." The sorceress shifted under her blankets and a pale hand reached for the bowl. 

Yennefer pulled the bowl back, just out of her reach, glaring at it until Tissaia dropped her hand back onto the bed.

"You smell just as bad as me, and we  _ both _ smell worse than this," she said as she motioned towards the contents of the bowl, a spoon in hand. "And no, I'm not letting you do this by yourself. You're going to let me help you for once."

The creases between Tissaia's eyebrows deepened and she could see the muscles in her jaw clenching, her nostrils flared ever so slightly. Yennefer was unable to fathom how someone with as little strength left as Tissaia had, could still manage to pull the most disgusted looking face. 

"Fine," she huffed as she set Tissaia's bowl down onto the table next to her. "I will help you sit up, so you can feed yourself. But don't be upset with me when you spill it everywhere." 

She slipped an arm under Tissaia’s frame and propped her up against the headboard, a pillow in the small of her back. The sorceress felt very warm, and she winced when her shoulder was jarred. As Yennefer handed her the bowl, she brushed with her fingers against Tissaia’s. The skin felt clammy. 

“Are you feeling alright?” she cautiously asked as she took a seat in the chair near the fire, making sure not to lean into the wet shirt that was drying on it. 

“Apart from the horrible pain in my shoulder, general lack of a meaningful amount of magic and a shortness of breath because I almost drowned, I feel fine.” Tissaia’s voice was thin and hoarse as she talked between spoonfuls. 

Yennefer had never seen her eat so quickly, or with such hurry. Within a few minutes the bowl was empty and Tissaia was shuffling to lie down. She hissed in pain, making the witcher want to stand up to help. But she was too slow, too hesitant. 

Sighing deeply, Tissaia looked at her for a while. “Thank you, Yennefer,” she eventually said. “You saved my life. You… what you did by the lake-” 

“It was only fair,” Yennefer mumbled. “You’ve saved mine every time we met. I wasn’t going to let you die there. Now rest, you need it. I’ll drag you to your friend tomorrow.” 

“My friend?” Tissaia quietly asked, before coughing harshly. 

Standing up to grab a cup of water, Yennefer nodded. “Triss. Lives near Vizima, right? You said that when we were walking through the swamp. I’m not always ignoring what you say.” 

A smile tugged on Tissaia’s lips, but faltered before it could fully form. She accepted the water that Yennefer gave her to drink, then laid back on the pillow. As she closed her eyes, making a quiet, pained noise in her throat, Yennefer dragged the chair back over to the bed and looked out of the window. The sun was almost completely gone, its last rosy streaks colouring the landscape. It made the shoddy inn look a bit more homely. 

Completely the contrary could be said for the woman in the bed. Tissaia had a sheen of sweat on her forehead, which only heightened her sickly appearance. Tomorrow, Yennefer decided, everything would be fine. She was a sorceress, she could suffer through a single night, injured in an uncomfortable bed. 

How wrong she was. 

Barely half an hour later, as Yennefer could guess from the way the shadows lengthened, Tissaia’s breaths were growing heavier and heavier. Her head drooped to the side, a ragged gasp escaping her mouth. 

Quickly, Yennefer got up from the chair. She grabbed the lantern that stood in the corner of the room and lit it with a flame from the hearth. Setting it on the nightstand, she hurriedly knelt beside the bed and peered at the injured sorceress. “Tissaia,” she cautiously whispered. 

Tissaia didn’t react. Her eyes were open, but they weren’t focusing on anything. In the soft glow of the lantern’s light, she saw that there were beads of sweat running down the mage’s brow. After rapidly getting a rag from the remains of Tissaia’s undershirt and dipping it in the cup of water on the nightstand, Yennefer wiped them away. And again, when they appeared instantly anew. Tissaia groaned at the action, turning her head away and squeezing her eyes shut.   
  
  


_ (Art by Greypaws!) _

One of her hands moved under the blanket, clenching into the sheets she laid under. A raspy cry spilled from between her lips as she haphazardly reached for her wounded shoulder. The only thing she managed to do was to nearly throw the blanket off of herself. 

Yennefer cursed quietly, placing one knee on the bed and steadying herself with a foot on the ground. Something was wrong with Tissaia’s injury and she couldn’t watch her suffer. As she peeled the bandage away, she was hit with the realization of just how frail the woman’s body was, compared to her own. And she knew she could consider herself lucky that she was only exhausted and a bit sore after the wyvern fight. Such was a witcher’s advantage, the very thing for which they had been made. 

She cursed louder when uncovering the wound. The deep red slice had disappeared amidst swollen edges, skin stretched tight with the fluid beneath. Yellowish pus was starting to form and well up from the injury and when Yennefer carefully touched the skin with the backs of her fingers, it was scorching. 

“Fuck,  _ fuck _ !” she muttered as she brought her hand up to Tissaia’s forehead. The predicament was much the same. It felt as if a fire blazed beneath the small woman’s skin. “You’re burning up. What the hell happened?” 

A panic took hold in her chest as Yennefer realized the cause. The water. The green-brown goop of the swamp. As a witcher, she didn’t have troubles, since her enhanced body just drove the infection out before it could take hold. Yet Tissaia had no such strengths. Whatever had been soiling the swamp waters had taken ahold in her body and was poisoning her blood.

[brazenedMinstrel](https://soundcloud.com/user-768938233) · [Still Waters - Fever Scene](https://soundcloud.com/user-768938233/still-waters-fever-scene)

_(Soundtrack by brazenedMinstrel!)_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Double cliffhanger? We're not sorry! 
> 
> Also please listen to the soundtrack, I (braz) put a lot of hours into it and I'm very happy with how it reflects the scene. AND there are time stamps in soundcloud description to sync it up with the scene!!


	12. Chapter 12

[Greypaws](https://soundcloud.com/user-100350749) · [SW Chapter 12](https://soundcloud.com/user-100350749/sw-chapter-12)

_Narration by Greypaws!_

* * *

[brazenedMinstrel](https://soundcloud.com/user-768938233) · [Still Waters - Fever Scene](https://soundcloud.com/user-768938233/still-waters-fever-scene)

_Soundtrack by brazenedMinstrel!_

* * *

Yennefer ran to the window, opening it to let some cool night air in. It was completely dark now, the road to the city of Vizima looking deserted and dangerous. Even if she could drive a horse to go onto it, it would likely stumble and break a leg before she got to the city. No, they had to stay in the inn for the night, until it was safe enough to leave. Thus she filled a bowl with water and dipped the rag into it. “Tissaia,” she softly said, patting it across her forehead. “Tissaia, can you hear me?” 

“Y-Yennefer…” Tissaia breathed in return. Her voice caught in her throat and she coughed, whimpering. “Don’t… please, don’t. I’m already cold.” 

“That’s bullshit.” Yennefer unrelentingly cleaned away the sweat, even as the sorceress squirmed. “You’re delirious. Something bad got into your wound when you went under water. I’ll drag you to the other sorceress in the morning, don’t worry.” 

A full body shiver took hold of Tissaia. It was more akin to a convulsion, jolting the woman’s frail form. She curled inwards on her side, her brow knotted into a tight frown. Her head had been pounding for hours, ever since the witcher had revived her. Every vein in her body was alight with the flames of her fever which had been slowly consuming her. Her heart pounded in her chest, she could hear it in her ears and feel it in her joints. It gnawed at her flesh like a rabid beast, Yennefer’s concerned voice nothing more than a faint echo in her mind.

“I’ll be fine, Yennefer…” Tissaia croaked as her voice trailed off. 

_ 'You’ll be dead’, _ was what Yennefer wanted to retort with. But she couldn’t even bring herself to utter the words. Her heart threatened to beat itself through her ribcage as she peered down at the smaller woman who was lying in the fetal position and swearing she was alright. The same woman, who just hours earlier, had torn fully grown trees from the earth and hurled them effortlessly at the monster they had been hunting. Yennefer’s throat clenched at the realization that it was she who had dragged the sorceress along with her on this journey. It was her fault.

“You are much too hot, I’ll be right back, I’m going to fetch some colder water.” Yennefer said as she tumbled out of the small room. She hardly recalled the path she took to get outside, but she found herself staggering towards the well just outside the inn all the same. Small pebbles buried into her flesh as she leaned against the stone which surrounded the well. She peered down inside the well for a few moments before catching her breath.

The pulley made a creaking sound as she lowered the bucket down into the well, knowing the water it contained was at least ten degrees cooler than what they had inside the inn.

_ It wasn’t supposed to be like this _ , Yennefer thought to herself as she heard a splash of water which signified that the bucket had reached the water of the well. While she waited for it to fill, her head began to swim with images she didn’t want to see and scenarios that she didn’t want to exist. Tissaia could die tonight, within minutes if she didn't do the right thing. 

Her hand clenched around the handle of the bucket, once it had been drawn from the well, just as tightly as the fear of losing Tissaia clenched around her heart.

Realizing she hadn’t brought anything to transfer the cold water into, she untied the rope from the handle of the bucket and allowed it to drop back inside of the well. The odd looks she received from the barkeep as she stormed back into the inn, bucket from the well in hand, were met with a very penetrating, yellow-eyed gaze.

Yennefer noticed that the sorceress had shifted a bit, during the short amount of time she had been gone. She had rolled over onto her other side, therefore facing the door as Yennefer strode in. Tissaia’s half-lidded gaze locked onto her, and Yennefer felt the slightest bit of relief at the thought of Tissaia exiting her delirium. Perhaps she was just exhausted, and the symptoms weren’t from a horrific swamp bacteria which had entered her bloodstream.

A pale hand, damp with sweat, reached out towards her, followed by a fragile voice, Her name falling from her lips. Yennefer nearly dropped her bucket just to rush to Tissaia’s side. “I’m right here Tissaia. What is it you need, anything at all,” Yennefer placed the bucket of cold water on the table. She had grabbed some of the smaller linen cloths, which had been left as a courtesy, and dunked them in. 

“Cold…” Tissaia only murmured, shrinking away when Yennefer wiped her forehead with the wetted rag. Her voice was slurred and she seemed to sink further and further away with every passing minute. “Yennefer… I-I’m so cold.” 

“No, you’re too warm,” Yennefer mumbled again, concern nagging in her chest. She knew that they could not stay in the inn. It was too dirty and too far away from everything. Yet she couldn’t gallop off into the night with a shitty rented horse and a limp Tissaia. Biting on her lip, she continued carefully cooling the sorceress’ forehead. “Tissaia, your wound is infected,” she said, accentuating every word so Tissaia might understand it. “You have a fever and you’re delirious. I will get you out of here by morning, I swear.” 

Tissaia did not react, even when Yennefer turned her over on her back and folded the blanket over her. Her eyes were a bit open, unfocused. Her mouth was slightly opened too, slow breaths falling out in wheezes. She coughed again, the tendons in her neck straining as she did so. 

“Yen - Yennefer, where are you?” she whispered, her tone broken. 

“I’m right here, Tissaia, right here.” 

Tissaia’s hand came up to rest on her chest, just over her heart. She clutched the fabric of her shirt loosely, her thumbs shaking. “I’m cold…” she repeated again, as if it were the first time she’d said it. “Ask Yennefer to bring me another blanket,” she rasped.

Yennefer closed her mouth. What could she say? The delirium had warped Tissaia’s mind. There was no use in arguing with her about who she was. “Alright, Tissaia… I’ll have Yennefer bring you another blanket. Just relax until I get back.”

Another blanket was not what she needed, Yennefer knew this. Her body was burning itself apart from the inside and Yennefer had never felt so powerless to stop something in her entire life. She thumped her fist against the wall, dust rained down upon her from between the rafters. Now was not the time to lose her temper, she needed to think.

With great haste, she grabbed the extra blanket which rested at the foot of the bed, muttering an apology to the fine establishment they were currently residing in as she used it to smother the fire in the fireplace. She tossed its charred remains outside the open window, swearing under her breath at the fact that the breeze which was traveling through it wasn’t cool enough.

“Yennefer…” Tissaia said, her speech slurred and her hand still clutching her chest.

There was a different look in her blue eyes as she approached the bedside this time. They were still lost, that much was clear, but there was a measurable amount of panic which seemed to reside in them now. The hand which had rested limply on her chest now clenched the fabric tightly.

“Something… is wrong,” Tissaia gasped as her eyes widened and she looked at Yennefer. Though it seemed more like the sorceress was looking right through her. “Something is… broken…” 

A frightened sounding growl resonated from Tissaia’s throat as her other hand balled into a fist. She slammed the fist onto the bed and her back arched. Her eyes had rolled into the back of her skull and Yennefer could see her jaw muscles tensing as she clenched her teeth so hard the witcher swore they would break.

“Tissaia, no!” Yennefer shouted as she climbed onto the bed next to her, taking her wrist in her hand, after nearly being punched in the face. She drew it close to her chest and held it next to her heart as she tried to calm the sorceress, hoping she wouldn’t see her as a threat and incinerate them both with some kind of spell. “I’ve got you Tissaia. Whatever it is you see or feel, whatever it is, I won’t let it hurt you.”

It wasn’t difficult to restrain Tissaia as she thrashed about, disregarding her words of comfort and trying to strike out at whatever it was she thought was threatening her. The sorceress was much less physically capable of throwing a fully fledged witcher off of her person than she seemed to think, but Yennefer hated to do it. She hated the fact that she had to hold her down to keep her from injuring herself. She hated the fact that she was fighting against something she couldn’t see.

Fighting monsters was much easier than this, she realized as she held Tissaia close in her arms until she stilled. Her silver sword could do nothing to heal this woman. Her healing capabilities were rudimentary at best, consisting of nothing more than the potions she knew how to mix and the bandages she knew to apply.

She brushed her thumb across her cheek and whispered affirmations that she was safe into the sorceress’ ear, until the whimpers and muffled attempts to call out her name subsided. Her eyes stung and she didn’t know why. Tears leaked from them, stinging as they crossed over and into the gaping wound which now decorated her face. Perhaps that was the reason Tissaia could no longer recognize her, she must have looked terrifying to her.

“You’re cold,” Tissaia said to her in an icy tone which was almost recognizable. Yennefer exhaled against her temple, a sigh of relief which stirred some of the dark brown hairs that weren’t chained against her skin by a sheen of sickly sweat.

It wasn’t the first time she’d heard that, so she agreed with Tissaia as she continued to hold on to her softly. There had been many a time, before Geralt’s trials, where she had held her hand against his side unexpectedly and laughed as he squirmed out of her frosty grasp, giggling to no end.

Her eyes widened at the realization. As a witcher, her heart beat at an extraordinarily low rate. It also kept her body temperature much lower than average.

“Yennefer?” Tissaia groaned as her brow knitted itself into a frown, her head splayed to the side, facing away from her.

“Yes, Tissaia? I’m here.”

“I tried to catch it… the lightning,” Tissaia said, her voice sounded diminished. 

She pressed the bridge of her injured nose against the back of Tissaia’s head. “I’m sure you did fine.”

“I missed.”

Yennefer hummed, realizing this was more than likely a past memory resurfacing in her weakened state, and one she probably would never have shared with her otherwise.

“I would have missed too,” Yennefer said as she pulled the smaller woman closer to her cold body. “Scratch that, I most likely would have done something stupid like catch it  _ somehow  _ and throw it back into my instructor’s face.”

Her admission seemed to amuse the sorceress, and she was treated to a throaty chuckle which faded off into a sigh. “Yennefer?”

“Yes?”

“Would you fetch a blanket for me? I’m cold.”

Yennefer sighed. She was not at all equipped to deal with this. Tissaia’s weakening voice and her broken demeanor were chewing away at her, and she wished that she could heal the woman as easily as she had healed her, countless times. Unfortunately, she had no such abilities, despite the fact that her heart was breaking at the sight of the ill mage. “I’m fetching one right now,” she quietly said. 

As she folded the sweaty blanket back a bit, Tissaia shivered violently again. Though it wasn’t as strong as before. She was weakening, Yennefer knew it. She threw her shirt over the back of the chair, stripping down to her trousers and the bindings around her chest. Luckily, both were more or less dry. 

Her heart pounded in her chest as she climbed into the bed, behind Tissaia. The wound over her face still burned, but she knew she could afford to have it treated later. She wouldn’t die of it, Tissaia might. That thought made her feel hollow inside and she shoved it away. No, Tissaia was strong, she should not die. She  _ would  _ not die. 

The sorceress’ breathing was weak and shaky against Yennefer as she cupped the smaller body with her own. And she was near glowing with fever, her heartbeat rapid. As Yennefer folded the blanket over the both of them and softly said, in the most soothing tone she could manage through her worries: “Here, an extra blanket.” 

Tissaia’s only reply was a groan. She curled into herself, grabbing the arm that Yennefer had laid around her waist in a death grip as shivers wracked her form. She coughed again, hoarse and rough. It made the witcher hold her more tightly, clasping both arms around the too warm body. 

Holding her just so, she was afraid that Tissaia’s organs would roast from the fever. Resting her head against the back of Tissaia’s, she thought back to her witcher trials. The moments that she swore she could feel her functions fail one by one, until they did not and she woke up in more pain the moment after. A cold shiver of her own rolled over her spine when she thought of such a thing happening to Tissaia. 

No, it would not. She would do anything in her power to prevent it. If the sorceress could survive until daybreak, they would speed to Vizima and find Triss Merigold. 

Every time Tissaia tried to toss and turn, Yennefer held her in place. Cooling her body with her own, she stilled the delirious woman. The way that Tissaia was folded into herself couldn’t be good for her shoulder injury either, but Yennefer didn’t have the heart to twist her on her back. Eventually, she fell asleep, as did Tissaia. Her soft, frail form calmed a little. The last thought that Yennefer had was if she would wake up with the other woman dead in her arms. 

The little sleep Yennefer did get was interrupted by nightmares, both real and imagined. She roused, her body was warmer than it had ever been as Tissaia’s heat had leached off onto her during the night, and the sorceress’ body finally felt cooler. The fever had broken.

But her heart jumped into her throat at the realization that Tissaia’s body was no longer fidgeting about and fighting off nonexistent foes. No, her body was hardly moving. Only short, infrequent breaths gave Yennefer the indication that Tissaia was still amongst the living.

“Tissaia!” she exclaimed as she sat up quickly, her eyes scanning over the diminished rise and fall of her chest. Each one more strained than the last.

She flew out of the bed and scrambled for her clothes, knowing she could no longer wait for a recovery in order to travel with Tissaia. They needed to find the healer, lest the sorceress perish. The panic which grew in her chest only increased once she thought about the fact that she didn’t have Raven and his great speed and endurance.

With Tissaia in her arms, she burst into the inn’s tavern. “Where is the horse,” she demanded, receiving nothing more than a half hearted glance from the man behind the bar. Different from the one she had encountered when they had first arrived.“The horse I rented last night when I arrived, paid the gold already. Where is it?”

A grimey finger pointed to the eastern wall. “Outside, ‘round back.” 

There was indeed a horse tied to the wall behind the tavern. It stood under a little protruding roof and was all in all a rather sorry horse. Dappled, but with mud sticking to its feet and droopy eyes. Yennefer carefully set Tissaia down as she saddled the beast, then hoisted the limp sorceress up and ushered the horse in the direction of Vizima. 

She rode fast. As fast as the horse would go, anyways. Its tread was ungainly compared to Raven’s smooth steps and she found herself wishing that she had taken her trusty companion along. This one’s gait was also rather hobbly, which didn’t bother Yennefer much, but the way Tissaia was jarred with every movement didn’t sit right with her. 

Finally, she reached the outskirts of Vizima. The sight of farms in the greyish light of morning had never been so welcoming to her. “Hold on, Tissaia, we’re almost there,” she said to the unresponsive woman in her arms. 

Spurring the horse on further, she did not stop until she reached the first building where she saw a person outside. A maid was carrying a bucket of water from a well to the farmhouse, stopping and gaping at Yennefer when she rode up brusquely. She supposed that she must have been quite the sight. A ragged witcher dragging along an unconscious sorceress. 

“How to the mage Triss Merigold?” she asked, panting slightly, holding Tissaia secure in the saddle in front of her. 

“Just outside the city gates, in a little cabin with a flower garden,” the woman stuttered. 

Yennefer was off before she finished her sentence, not even thanking her as she urged the shoddy horse again. Tissaia inhaled in a wheeze, shuddering against the witcher’s body. Cursing, Yennefer propped her up a little bit more with her free arm, holding the reins secure with her other. “Come on, you damned shitty horse,” she mumbled. 

There were several houses outside the city gates, and she swore again as she scanned over them. They were all free standing, and none of them had a true flower garden. She rode further up amongst the buildings, looking left and right for clues. Anything that could help her save Tissaia. The answer came much sooner than she had anticipated. 

“You, witcher!” a voice called out behind her. Turning the horse around, Yennefer looked into the eyes of a very angry blonde woman, who was aiming a bow directly at her. “What have you done to Tissaia?”

* * *

[brazenedMinstrel](https://soundcloud.com/user-768938233) · [Still Waters - Fever Scene](https://soundcloud.com/user-768938233/still-waters-fever-scene)

_Soundtrack by brazenedMinstrel!_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Is that backstory??? Hints?   
> If any of you caught both the two pieces of Tissaia's backstory that we dropped here, let us know!!
> 
> Also, fun fact: chapters 11 and 12 were originally supposed to be just one, but Greypaws and I (braz) couldn't stop writing feverish details so we just kinda went overboard and made it into two...


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Enter Triss, the kind healer. And Sabrina, her grumpy, grouchy, generally unpleasant wife!

[Greypaws](https://soundcloud.com/user-100350749) · [Still Waters, Chapter 13](https://soundcloud.com/user-100350749/still-waters-chapter-13)

_(Narration by Greypaws!)_

* * *

Yennefer’s horse kicked and turned, just as startled to see a weapon aimed in it’s direction as she was. She clutched Tissaia even more tightly as the blonde stranger refused to lower her weapon, after having demanded to know that which she did not understand.

That she would never harm Tissaia.

“I’ve done nothing to her,” Yennefer said with a measured amount of guilt laced deep within her ever slow-beating heart, for she knew that had she not asked Tissaia to join her, she wouldn’t be limp in her arms now. “I’m looking for Triss Merigold, Tissaia needs her help.”

The woman kept the arrow trained on her, fierce green eyes which carried a stare just as penetrating as her weapon would be, should she decide to fire the arrow.

“You can’t think us all that bad,” Yennefer pleaded with the woman who stood only inches taller than Tissaia, yet carried just as much presence. “I just want to find Triss, I’ll leave once-”

Yennefer was interrupted as a darker haired woman with her eyebrows drawn up in the middle and wearing a look of great concern as she rushed towards them. “Sabrina, no! Lower your weapon, she’s carrying an injured person who needs help.” A gasp escaped her lips, followed by an utterance of the sorceress’ name, once she was close enough to see who the injured person was.

During their travels to get to the wyvern island, Yennefer recalled Tissaia mentioning Triss having a lover named Sabrina, who would not take kindly to her. The arrow, which was slowly being lowered, was proof enough that the sorceress was once again correct. “Are you Triss? Tissaia told me about you, that she knew you. Please, I just want to get her the help she needs.” Her voice cracked.

“Yes, I’m Triss. Sabrina, help me get her inside.” The healer took Tissaia’s wrist in her hand as Sabrina shouldered her bow. “Her pulse is weak but it’s there.”

Yennefer carefully lowered Tissaia into the waiting arms of the pair. She sucked a breath through her teeth as the sorceress let out a muted groan at the movement. As much as she didn’t want to harm her, even hearing just the slightest sound from the injured woman was a relief to hear, it meant she was still alive.

“Our cabin is nearby.” Triss said as she shifted Tissaia into Sabrina’s arms. “I need you to tell me what happened to her.”

She found herself watching Sabrina just as closely once they got Tissaia down from the horse. They began to walk to a heavily wooded area and Yennefer could just make out a small cabin shaded by a canopy of trees with a garden in the front.

Yennefer slung her leg over the saddle and dismounted. “We’d gone to kill the royal wyvern on the island. She was helping me with a contract I had acquired. We fought it to the death but it managed to knock her into the deeper part of the swamp, puncturing her shoulder with a claw. You’ll see the mark. She… she nearly drowned in the waters but I was able to pull her to safety and revive her. She seemed weak but was still talking. During the night, she broke out into a terrible fever, and now she’s like this.”

Triss opened the weathered wooden door to the cabin and waved her hand, reciting a phrase she was more than certain she’d heard Tissaia use before. Several candles burst to life, illuminating the interior of the cabin with their warm glow.

Yennefer followed them through the small living space and into another room which looked to be for healing purposes. There were shelves lined with various bottles and jars, a small desk with a few potted herb plants growing under the faint light from the window and a small table with stacks of neatly folded linen cloth next to a medical bed.

Sabrina carefully laid Tissaia on the bed and moved away while Triss huddled in close to her. With a thumb, she opened Tissaia’s eyes and peered into them as she requested Sabrina bring her a wash bowl. “She most likely contracted something from the water, entering through the open wound on her shoulder. I’ve treated others before from something similar to this. It causes an aggressive infection which spreads through the blood quickly and attacks the body’s vital organs.”

Yennefer paced the room anxiously. She’d spent the last day and a half worried over the sorceress. A different kind of worry, one she hadn’t felt before. “What can be done?” she all but demanded.

“A compress for on the wound, then various potions to help her body heal. I… I will draw out the worst of the infection with magic. You may help me hold her steady, during the process,” Triss said. 

Sabrina brought them a bowl with water, gently touching it with a hand and murmuring a spell to heat it to a comfortable temperature. She still shot a foul look at Yennefer, who returned it in kind. “After you’ve helped Triss with that, you’ll wash. You smell like a swamp yourself.” 

“If you would fill the bath then, love?” Triss suggested. “We will bathe Tissaia too, after treating her.” 

Yennefer watched Sabrina depart with hidden amusement. Though she and Triss were both sorceresses, it was already evident how different the pair was. Then, Tissaia quietly groaned, and the witcher’s attention was pulled to the bed again. Triss was undoing the bandage she had hastily set. The healer’s eyebrows rose alarmedly at the wound beneath. 

“Gods… this is from one night?” she asked Yennefer. 

“It was like that when I checked it, past sunset. A few hours earlier it was fine. Bleeding, but not so infected.” 

“Her body was too weak to combat it properly,” Triss said as she stripped Tissaia of her shirt and trousers. “But she’s in good hands here, don’t worry.” 

With a sigh, Yennefer nodded. She had to, for she knew that Triss was a better healer than she. Simply put, she had to trust her. It struck her just how slight Tissaia was, underneath all of her clothing. As Triss covered her from the midriff down with a thick blanket, Yennefer could only look at the wound on her shoulder. The reddish, swollen skin and the fluid welling up from inside it. All of it was eating away at Tissaia, who still seemed to be scarcely breathing. 

“Come, sit behind her, place your hands on her shoulders and hold her if she tries to twist away.” Triss’ voice was kind as she directed the witcher to the bed. She laid a hand on Yennefer’s shoulder, a warm, soft hand. All sorceresses seemed to have them. 

Once again, for the second time in a day, Yennefer placed her hands on Tissaia’s upper arms. The skin felt much colder than it had in the night before, which she took to be a good sign. Tissaia’s breath stuttered at the contact, weak and shaky. 

With some apprehension, Yennefer watched as Triss hovered her hands above the injury. She began speaking spells under her breath, the Elder words smoothly falling from her lips. Yennefer recognised a few, but couldn’t decipher exactly what she said. The effect was almost instant. A mere second after Yennefer tasted the magic on her tongue, Tissaia gasped and grimaced in pain. 

Instantly, Yennefer pressed down with her hands, holding the smaller woman down onto the bed. She didn’t seem to fight anymore, but sagged into the mattress, which the witcher took to be a good sign. Her breathing sped up and, most importantly, deepened substantially. 

Triss closed her eyes, repeating the spell over and over again. She quickly snatched a linen rag from the bedside table and held it against the wound. “You need to keep this in place,” she told Yennefer. “Then I shall finish the spell.” 

As Yennefer took the cloth, pressing it against the clammy skin of Tissaia’s shoulder, Triss began murmuring again. Soon, Tissaia cramped, sweat breaking out on her brow. Blood started to pour out of the slice again, but it didn’t remain bright red for long. It thickened, nearing black as it sluggishly soaked into the cloth. The healer was really keeping her word, drawing out the worst of the infection. 

Tissaia shook as more and more infected blood drained from her body. Her eyes sprung open as she let out a harrowing cry, arching her back so wildly that Yennefer had to brace her against the bed again.

“Tissaia, it’s alright, we are with Triss. She’s taking care of you now. It won’t hurt for that much longer.” Yennefer looked to the healer, not knowing if what she said was even true. How could she assure the sorceress that her pain would simply fade when she did not know? Triss’ dark eyes were closed as she focused her energy on channeling the spell.

The sorceress struggled against her, heartbreaking as it was, Yennefer continued to pin her down. “I’m sorry, this is for your own good.” Her voice cracked as she pleaded with Tissaia to still, well aware that it was likely her pleas fell upon deaf ears, for Tissaia seemed to be consumed by pain.

“Switch the linen, Yennefer.” The healer had paused just long enough to direct her, returning her focus on the spell she was using to draw the toxins from Tissaia’s bloodstream.

Not being in any position to deny the request, Yennefer threw the soiled cloth to the floor and reached for a clean one from the table. As she exchanged the cloth, she took note of the thick, dark blood which poured from the gaping wound. She shuddered and covered it as quickly as she could, fighting back the stinging sensation which she felt in her eyes, clouding her vision.

The healer’s voice increased in both volume and tension. Yennefer found herself torn between watching Triss as she worked her magic, and watching Tissaia’s face as it contorted. As difficult as it was, she managed to do both.

Suddenly, the healer stopped reciting her incantations and opened her eyes. Yennefer gasped sharply as the cloth she pressed upon Tissaia’s wound almost instantaneously filled with a bright red crimson. She felt the warmth of her blood and she tossed it aside in order to reach for a new one.

“She’s bleeding again!” Yennefer snarled at Triss. “This was supposed to help her,” she added as she applied pressure to the wound, nearly choking over her words as the cloth began to turn red once again.

“It  **_is_ ** helping her, just look.” Triss pointed towards the blackened cloth, which was sprawled across the floor of her cabin just a half-arm’s length away. “She’s bleeding, but the blood is bright red, meaning it’s healthy once again. Just keep applying pressure to the wound as I prepare a salve which will staunch the bleeding. It will draw the rest of the infection out as well. And I’ll give her a potion to enhance her vitality.”

A gasp escaped Tissaia as she stilled, her eyes opening up ever so slightly, just enough to where Yennefer could make out a sliver of blue. 

“Tissaia…” The sorceress’ name spilled from her lips as she removed one hand from her shoulder and brushed her thumb across the sorceress’ soft cheek, gasping ever so slightly along with the motion. 

Triss stood, making her way to the shelving which held many a different ingredient. Yennefer left her to her work, scanning Tissaia’s face for any sign of recovery.

“Her cheeks,” Yennefer could hear the smile in her own voice. “They are regaining their colour.”

“Yes,” Triss said as she set a few jars containing herbs atop her desk, “I’ve drawn the infection from her body but she still needs additional care. She’ll be here for a few weeks, at the very least.”

Yennefer opened her mouth to reply but was interrupted as Sabrina had returned, her glare no less blunt. “Your bath is ready, you should take one before it goes cold.”

There was no softness behind her tone, as Triss had. No, she was being ordered to leave Tissaia behind in order to clean herself up. A request she very nearly denied until Triss placed a compassionate hand on her shoulder and told her to wash well, and that she would tend to her facial wound once she was done.

In a daze, she staggered towards the bathroom where the bath had been drawn for her. She tugged at her filthy clothing, scattering it across the floor before sinking into the tub up to the bottom part of her ears. Her enhanced senses gave her the ability to hear well enough to pick up the hushed conversation between Sabrina and Triss.

“I don’t trust her,” Sabrina said. Yennefer could clearly make out the fact that her jaw was clenched when she’d made the announcement.

Triss sighed heavily, “I know you don’t, but why? Simply because she’s a witcher?”

Yennefer heard the scraping of chair legs against the wooden floor. Sabrina had sat down. “No, because that witcher brought us a half dead, no… a nearly dead Tissaia in her arms. Witchers are careless, they do nothing but rush into battle. They give no shits about those who go in with them, all they care about is gold.”

It wasn’t the first time Yennefer had faced such accusations, which weren’t entirely untrue, she did enjoy earning her coin. She also cared about who would fight with her, and for her, though. Like Tissaia, especially Tissaia. Sucking in a deep breath, Yennefer submerged herself underneath the bathwater which had started to grow cold, just to block out the conversation.

They were wrong about her. 

She washed thoroughly, using the plentiful supply of soap and oil that the mages had on hand. Afterwards, she sagged against the rim of the bath and closed her eyes, relaxing for the first time since the wyvern battle. It felt blissful. 

“Lady-witcher? I have some clean clothing for you,” came the soft voice of Triss from behind the door. “I will put it just outside the door. You may come to the medical chamber when you’re ready.” 

Yennefer almost forgot to reply. She grumbled a thanks, before hoisting herself up and out of the cooling water. It struck her then just how tired she felt. Certainly, she could sleep for more than a night after having her face treated. And after a good meal, that too. Now that Tissaia was safe, that was what mattered. 

The clothing was simple, but warm. Trousers of brown, sturdy fabric. Comfortable underclothes. A vest that alternated broad, lengthwise stripes of dark red and black. Shoes for indoors, which were only slightly too small. Yennefer tied her hair up in a loose ponytail and made her way to the medical room after dressing. She was weary, and eyed Sabrina suspiciously as she entered. 

Luckily, the blonde woman left by herself, shooting an equally poisonous look back at the witcher. Yennefer huffed as she sat down on the stool that Triss gestured to. “What’s her problem?” 

“Sabrina is just… fiery, in her personality,” Triss answered. “Usually it’s nothing but charming and exciting, but I’m guessing she doesn’t favour you and your fellow monster hunters. Turn your face to the left, please.” 

Doing so, Yennefer stared right at where Tissaia was resting. The sorceress seemed to be sleeping quietly, her breaths steady and even. Momentarily, Yennefer thought back to the night prior. Tissaia, writhing around in agony, her blood near boiling. The sweat pouring from her skin, the horribly infected wound. She shuddered subconsciously and closed her eyes, trying to ban the images from her mind. 

Then, she realized that she hadn’t even told Triss her name yet, and here she was treating her facial wound, carefully applying a salve. “I’m Yennefer, by the way. Yennefer of Vengerberg.” 

“ _ Oh _ , but I know that.” Triss turned away briefly, putting the salve-soaked cloth away. “Tissaia wrote to me, about you, a few years ago. A battle with a powerful djinn, I recall. She said you were quite…  _ reckless _ ,” she explained, laughing quietly. “How many potions have you had in the last days?” 

“A lot,” Yennefer answered, frowning. “Tissaia gave me fortifying, cold protection and healing draughts. Then the golden oriole against the wyvern’s venom. Too much to give me another one now?” 

Nodding, Triss set a vial with softly glowing, yellowish liquid on the table with all her ingredients. “The amount you have consumed is already high. It would be unwise to give you any, given the fairly high toxicity of the fortifying potions.”

Yennefer chuckled. “All of those potions and you don’t have any white honey?”

“Well, it isn’t often that I treat a witcher and the vitriol I have is far from pure enough to make something suitable for you.” Triss hummed as she leaned in uncomfortably close to examine her wound. Yennefer was used to Tissaia doing so by now, but not anyone else. “You’re already healing at an astounding rate, which will most likely leave you with a nasty scar,” the healer added.

“That’s alright, it isn’t as if I’m trying to walk onto a dance floor and steal the attention of some noble king. I’m a witcher, for fuck’s sake, I kill monsters for coin.”

The salve which the healer had applied stung, something which she surmised meant it was working, and she made a few more passes with it across her face. She wondered if Tissaia would find the gash offensive, and if she would ever be able to look upon her in the same way. Would she be disgusted or appalled by the imperfection? For if there was anything Tissaia was, it was perfection incarnate.

“Well, no matter what it is you do for coin, you saved TIssaia’s life. You must have cooled her off somehow. That particular infection usually takes the afflicted within the first night. How did you do it? I’d like to document it in my medical journal,” Triss said as she stood and walked to her desk. She opened a drawer and pulled out a weathered notebook, then grasped the quill from the inkpot which sat atop the desk.

Yennefer’s mouth opened, then shut. How could she explain what she had done? She had held Tissaia closely, her skin felt like fire but it didn’t matter to her and she hadn’t known what else to do. The coldness of her own body, a result of her sluggish witcher circulation, had saved Tissaia according to Triss, but she wasn’t ready to admit that just yet.

“I… opened a window and let the cold air in,” Yennefer offered.

Triss feverishly scribbled some notes in her journal. “Yes, that would make sense. What did you do next?”

“Next I extinguished the fire in the hearth and made certain the blankets weren’t too tight around her.”

The healer’s brow furrowed as she furiously documented every detail. “Was there anything else?”

Yennefer pushed herself up from the chair she had been seated on, pacing about the room just a bit before gathering her swords and what was left of her stinking armour. There was a bite to her tone as she looked to Tissaia’s resting form while she spoke. “I loaded her on the horse and brought her here to you, where I was so warmly received, might I add. I’m going to wash these outside, Tissaia wouldn’t want to smell them.”

She staggered out of the small cabin, hoping Triss hadn’t heard the way her voice cracked when she said Tissaia’s name. Her feet caught on a bit of dirt and she stumbled into the horse which wasn’t hers, dropping her armor and sword on the ground as she clung to its neck, wishing more than anything that it was Raven. He would understand her. Witchers didn’t have feelings.

After cleaning her weapons and armour in a nearby stream, Yennefer reluctantly reentered the cabin. “Tissaia!” she exclaimed as she was greeted by the vision of the weakened sorceress with her eyes half open. An utterance of something which sounded like Yennefer’s name drifted from her lips. Her skin looked more vibrant than it had, though her movements were still sluggish.

“Is she going to be okay?” Yennefer asked as she very nearly reached for Tissaia’s limp hand which laid across the blanket, stopping herself just a few inches before.

“She will be. She needs time, but she’ll be alright,” Triss said. “Shall I leave the two of you alone for a little while? I will make something to eat, in the meantime. I think you both could use that.” 

Yennefer nodded, finding herself unable to speak for a moment. Said moment lasted long enough for Triss to smile softly and walk out of the room, leaving her with Tissaia. Deeply swallowing past a lump in her throat, Yennefer found the courage to look the sorceress in her blue, bloodshot eyes. Slaying monsters was far, far easier than this. Driving her sword into a beast’s body did not come with this feeling, as if her chest was constricting itself. 

“I’m… sorry,” she began. “I should’ve known that something like that would happen. I put you in danger-” 

“Yennefer,” Tissaia breathed. Her voice was a rasp, exhausted and pained, but it was undoubtedly there. “You did not.” 

“I dragged you along on the hunt, Tissaia, I-” 

“But I accepted. I chose to follow you on that adventure, knowing the dangers that our prey brought with it. I -  _ ah! _ ” Briefly, Tissaia hissed in pain and shifted uncomfortably under the sheets. “I knew, Yennefer, what I had done, when I fell ill. It was not you who wounded me, but it  _ was _ you… who saved me.” 

It felt as if Yennefer’s slow heart ceased its beating for a moment. The sheer magnitude of just what she had done to save Tissaia descended upon her. Not the way she had raced to Triss’ house and not how she had frantically searched the lake for the sorceress’ body. Rather, what she had done after and in between those things. She brought a hand up to the corner of her mouth, feeling along her own lips for a moment, before seeing Tissaia’s eyes on her. Those lips had touched Tissaia’s, not a day before. 

“How much do you remember of the last two days? Since you went under water, how much do you remember?” 

  
“Not much,” Tissaia confessed, looking out of the window. “I remember… the water closing around me. No, the wyvern’s claw tearing into me, before that. Then I remember trying to cast - anything - before the water filled my lungs, but failing. And then… you. Yelling at me, I believe. Screaming, no,  _ begging _ me not to go. ‘Not like this’, was that not what you said?” 

“It was,” Yennefer said, whispering. “It was,” she repeated, more loudly, to make sure Tissaia heard her. “I did say that, yes.” 

It was too much. The gravity of that moment came back. Dragging Tissaia out of the sludge of the swamp, feeling her body for signs of life and finding none, desperately pressing on her chest in the hopes of starting her heart anew. She slumped forward, resting her head in her hands. Before her, she saw Tissaia’s lifeless eyes, as they had looked on the site of their battle with the wyvern. 

A hand, softly squeezing her knee, startled her. She lifted her head and sat upright, tucking stray strands of hair behind her ears and fixing her eyes on the wall. Witchers were not supposed to feel such things. Yet she did, and it would not go away. 

“Yennefer, it’s over now,” Tissaia said, not removing her frail hand. “I will be alright, and so will you.” 

“You both will be.” Triss appeared in the door opening without warning, smiling despite the glare that Yennefer shot at her. “I have made an early lunch, Yennefer. You may join Sabrina and I outside for it.” 

Yennefer doubted that there would be much to enjoy about a lunch with Triss and her obnoxious wife, but the air felt thick with tension and she did not want to simmer in it. “Fine,” she mumbled as she stood from the chair, then made her way to the door. As she brushed past Triss, however, she stopped. The healer said something to Tissaia. Something that piqued Yennefer’s attention.    
  
“Did you want me to take a look at your heart, Tissaia? You said you felt it stutter, in your fever.” 

“No,” Tissaia quietly answered. “I… I think that was just my delirium. There is no use in getting worked up about past fears.” 

* * *

_ (Art by Greypaws, Yennefer and her facial wound)  _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tissaia is safe!  
> Now there are feelings!!!


	14. Chapter 14

[Greypaws](https://soundcloud.com/user-100350749) · [Still Waters Chapter 14](https://soundcloud.com/user-100350749/still-waters-chapter-14)

_(Narration by Greypaws!)_

* * *

“You can dish up your own, there is a plate for you over there,” Sabrina said gruffly to Yennefer, waving her hand in the direction of the empty plate which sat on a stump near a small fire pit. The coals were still smouldering and the distinct scent of cooked wild pheasant lingered in the air.

Yennefer grabbed the plate, which she was more than certain wouldn’t have been there except for the fact that Triss was a kindly woman, and made her way to a handmade wooden table with the lunch sitting atop it. She helped herself to a portion of meat, roasted vegetables and bread, they sat on a log which rested next to the fire. 

“It’s a difficult thing to do,” Yennefer said as she pulled apart a piece of meat, watching the steam as it curled from the center then vanished.

Narrowing her eyes, the blonde haired woman sat on a log across from her, the last of the burning embers from the pit between them cast a haunting glow beneath the woman’s sharp features, despite the fact that the afternoon sun still shone through the canopy of trees from above. “What is a difficult thing to do? Keeping your friends alive? Because that is what you almost managed  **_not_ ** to do.”

Yennefer felt the sting of her words deep in her heart. The guilt of dragging Tissaia into this would forever be painful, no matter how many times Tissaia assured her it wasn’t her fault. But she put her mask back on and met the sorceress’ gaze with an equally penetrating stare. 

“I meant… It is difficult to cook wild pheasant and have it come out both tender and flavourful.”

Sabrina exhaled and rolled her eyes before her features softened a bit and she picked up a piece of meat as well, delicately tearing it apart and popping a piece in her mouth. “I wrap it in a thin sheet of alder wood and cook it with indirect heat. It keeps the moisture in and adds a nice flavour.”

Yennefer hummed as she ate the food which was almost as good as Tissaia’s, sparing a few glances at the blonde sorceress when her focus had turned away, though she knew the archer most likely noticed. The other woman was not that much taller than Tissaia, yet carried a substantial amount of presence. Yennefer suspected there was much more power beneath Sabrina’s icily cold exterior than she led on and she wasn’t about to test that power. Not when it didn’t need to be tested. This woman clearly cared deeply for Tissaia as well, and no matter how much of a bitch she was, they were on the same side.

“This isn’t how it’s supposed to work, in case you’re wondering. I’m supposed to be the one rolling about in agonizing pain, not her. At least, that’s how it’s always been between us.”

Before Sabrina could reply, a sudden noise pulled Yennefer’s attention away from the conversation. She turned and stood with plate in hand, the urge to protect Tissaia from any threat was overwhelming and she very nearly ran towards the cabin until she saw it was only a tired looking Triss, making her way towards them.

“I’ve prepared a plate for you,” Sabrina said to Triss with a softness that Yennefer in no way thought she was capable of.

“Thank you, love.” Triss picked up her plate and sat next to Sabrina, resting her head on the blonde woman’s shoulder affectionately for a few seconds. “I promised Tissaia I would bring her some lunch after she rests for a bit. Or, you could do that Yennefer, if you’d like. I’m sure she would appreciate that.”

Yennefer stumbled over her words, anything which came to Tissaia had almost become too much for her to handle, but this was just lunch. She shouldn’t be so afraid of serving lunch to another person. “Yes, I… I could do that.”

A few comforting moments of silence passed as the trio enjoyed lunch. A refreshing breeze rolled through the shady grove behind the cabin and Yennefer closed her eyes for a brief period of time. She thought of her own cabin, which was severely neglected, probably half covered in vines, and with a family of some obscure beast which she couldn’t name living in it. An image flashed in her head. The cabin brought back to functioning living standards. A fragrant pot of stew over the fire, Tissaia stirring it’s contents as she looked over her shoulder at Yennefer and smiled.

The daydream was interrupted by a gentle and encouraging voice.

“You should speak to her, about your feelings towards her. It’s clear there is something there, between the both of you.” Triss smiled softly at Yennefer as Sabrina affixed her eyes on the brunette and frowned.

“Witchers don’t have feelings,” Yennefer said as her jaw tightened. She delayed any further response by filling her mouth with perfectly roasted vegetables, chewing slowly in order to avoid any other obligation to speak on the matter.

“Witchers are assholes,” Sabrina chimed in, flinching when Triss elbowed her in the side. “What? It’s true! I remember you when I went to Skellige for my field studies. I had been paired with your friend Anica, and didn’t need to complete the final test with you, thankfully. But you were just as arrogant then as you are now, just as reckless as well.” 

“ _ Ah,  _ that’s where I know your face from,” Yennefer said.

Skellige, the location of the traditional annual meeting between the apprentices of Aretuza and the trainees of the witcher schools. It was an old practice, meant to strengthen the bonds between the two forces that protected the world from threats above the common populace. Sighing, Yennefer chucked a bone into the fire pit. “No, I was paired with… what’s-her-face, the wet towel.” 

“Fringilla,” Sabrina said in a biting tone. “You rushed her, she broke her hand and then you blocked the path with stones while running up to the prize for the final task. She was lucky that Anica and I were right behind you.” 

“I had heard you coming from a mile away.” With the last of her bread, Yennefer wiped her plate clean. Then, she stood up and started to walk into the woods around the cabin. She needed to be alone, without Tissaia, Sabrina or Triss. No matter how kind the latter was. Yet soon, she heard quick, light footsteps in the dry leaves behind her. Turning around, she faced Triss again, who was panting to catch up with her. 

“What now?” Yennefer asked her, more gruffly than she had intended. 

“I was serious, with what I said,” Triss replied, tucking some of her curls behind her ears. “You really should speak to Tissaia about what you feel for her. It would do you good.” 

“And I said I don’t feel anything for her. Now let me take a walk in peace.” 

As she turned, Yennefer was stopped by a gentle hand on her arm. 

“I can see it in you, Yennefer. I can see it in your eyes when you look at her, and when you ask me if she will be alright.” Triss’ eyes were pleading as she tried to look into the witcher’s colder ones. “And I see it in your face too, your expression when you brought her to us. And… and I’m more than certain I would feel it in your heart if there was a spell that allowed me to. Yennefer, you must-” 

“That’s enough.” Rather forcefully, Yennefer removed her arm from the sorceress’ grasp. She stepped backwards, putting a few paces between them as she tried to tower over Triss. “Whatever you think to see, it doesn’t matter. I’m not fit for Tissaia. Me, a witcher! I’m not the kind lover she needs.” 

She regretted the words the moment they spilled over her lips. Somehow, this woman had wrangled the very term out of her that she had fought to think about for years. Opening her mouth, she was about to demand that Triss would forget what she said, when the sorceress spoke too. 

“That’s - you’re… that’s not true!” she sputtered. “I  _ met _ a witcher, years ago. Geralt of Rivia. He was ordered to dispose of a striga, but instead he wished to save the cursed girl that had become the beast. And he did, he succeeded. He was a very kind person, to do such a thing.” 

“I know,” Yennefer said through gritted teeth. “He told me. I half raised Geralt, you know. But saving a cursed princess isn’t that same thing as loving a sorceress who will never accept me.” 

She drew herself up to her full height and sighed. While the air left her lungs, the anxiety stayed. It only seemed to intensify, twisting knots into her gut. “I’m too different, Triss,” she said, deflating. “Too wild, too rough. I travel all throughout the world. She has a comfortable home and the people love her. It would never work between us, no matter how much I want to… to -” 

Her voice broke and she had to continue in a whisper to make herself audible at all. This was not how she was supposed to act, breaking down in front of a woman she barely knew. But the emotions that had been swirling around ever since Tissaia had healed her after the fight against the djinn, they would no longer stay buried where she had kept them all these years. 

“No matter how much I want to cherish her. And love her, yes, all that she deserves. Just not from someone as fickle as I am.”

~~~

Tissaia opened her eyes having heard the sound of light footsteps making their way across the floor. The light was blinding and caused her head to throb with pain. Focusing on anything seemed nearly impossible, but the steps were too delicate to be Yennefer’s and not light enough to be Sabrina’s.

“Triss…” she managed to croak out as she struggled to sit up before feeling a warm hand rest on her forearm.

“Please Tissaia, just rest. You have been through so much. You need to save your strength. Yennefer will be in shortly with something for you to eat. Sabrina is preparing your lunch, making a stew for you with our catch, so it will be easier for you to eat.”

Tissaia groaned as she settled back down. Triss shifted her pillow and blankets urging her to get comfortable. Comfort seemed fleeting as everything seemed to hurt still, but at least she had survived. Her eyes finally adjusted enough to make out Triss’ features. Her expression was that of concern, with brows drawn up in the center and her lips slightly parted as if she had some terrible news to deliver.

“Has my health taken another turn?” she asked, hardly putting any effort into the question. It wouldn’t surprise her if it had, as exhausted as she still felt.

“No, no, Tissaia, it hasn’t. You’ll be fine with regular healing, though it will take some time. A week, perhaps two. I’m not quite as efficient as you.” Triss smiled and Tissaia relaxed upon seeing it.

“I’ve had a lot longer to practice. Mostly on Yennefer, lately,” Tissaia chuckled slightly, wincing and bringing a hand up to her ribs as a dull ache in her ribcage reminded her that she wasn’t even well enough for that just yet. The witcher’s efforts to revive her had left her chest bruised all over. Once the pain subsided, she rested her hand just above her heart. “Then what is it? Why the look?”

Triss sighed, resting her hand on the edge of the bed. “You should tell her. You should tell Yennefer.”

Her brow knitted itself into a tight frown, and Tissaia was relieved that at least one action didn’t cause her pain. “Tell Yennefer what?”

“Tissaia, I’ve known you long enough. At first when you had written to me about Yennefer, I thought it was just the adventure you were craving. Things can get boring in Rinde, I think we all know that. But, I’ve seen the way you look for her whenever someone enters the room. I’ve seen the way you both look at each other. She cares for you and I can tell you have feelings for her as well. It would serve you both well to admit those feelings you hold for each other.”

Tissaia scoffed, her retort sharp. “Don’t be absurd.”

Almost defensively, Triss responded, her tone softening as she spoke. “I’m not being absurd, I know you love her. We’ve been friends long enough, I can tell.”

“I didn’t mean that, I shouldn’t have been so quick to respond. Would you help me to sit up?” Tissaia shifted as Triss readily assisted, propping her up with a few more pillows, taking great care not to aggravate her shoulder injury.

“Is that better?” Triss asked with great concern.

“Much better, thank you.” Starting over, Tissaia reached for Triss’ hand. “I mean it is absurd to ever think I would be enough for Yennefer.”

“That’s not true! You are more than -” Triss stopped suddenly as Tissaia held up a finger.

“Yennefer doesn’t want someone like me. She needs adventure. Every time I’ve encountered her that’s what she’s been doing. She lives the life of a witcher, roaming about the Continent and killing monsters. And I am bound to Rinde. No, our lives are much too different to make it work.” Tissaia heard the disappointment in her own voice, just as much as she saw the disappointment in the look on Triss’ face.

Unwilling to admit to Tissaia that she had just had the same conversation with Yennefer only minutes prior, Triss sighed and stood, hoping Yennefer hadn’t stormed off by now. “I still suggest speaking with her about it. Even with the differences in lifestyles, I’m sure you two could make it work. Travel isn’t an issue for you.”

“That isn’t the problem. I never know where she is half the time. I can’t portal to her without knowing the location. You know how this works,” Tissaia said as she made a vague gesture with her hand. She felt sadness filling her heart at the thought of just how true that was. She never knew where Yennefer was, or if she was injured or in trouble. All too often she had found herself listening to the songs of traveling bards, hoping they weren’t singing a sad tale about the fallen Lady-Witcher of Vengerberg.

“Then I will leave you alone for now, I’ll check with Sabrina and see if your lunch is ready.” Triss smiled before she turned and departed.

Tissaia clutched the bedsheet, as tightly as her exhaustion would allow, desperate to find anything which would help stave off the stinging sensation she felt in her eyes. Somehow a wyvern claw impaling her shoulder seemed less painful than this.

~~~

When Triss arrived outside, she noticed that Yennefer was in the process of saddling up the horse. She was wearing the dirty leather boots again, the pair she had arrived in. All else that she’d had with her was stuffed into her cuirass, tied up with a belt into a rough ball and attached to the saddle. Her face seemed to be made of stone as she regarded Triss’ approach. “Hope you don’t mind me taking the clothing you gave me to wear,” she said evenly. “Mine is still wet, and ruined by swamp water.” 

“N-no, I don’t…” Triss began. She brought a hand to her mouth, opening and closing her lips as she tried to choose the right words. “You’re not leaving, are you? I just told Tissaia that you would bring her lunch.” 

“Surely you can bring her lunch just fine.” Yennefer continued checking the stirrups and ensuring the saddle was buckled well. “Don’t need me for that.” 

“Are you going to retrieve your weapons and proof of your kill, then? Because I could create a portal just as easily. No need to exhaust the horse.” 

“No, Merigold. I’m going to bring this shitty ride back to that shitty inn, then I’m going home. Winter’s on its way and I don’t want to be stuck in Temeria when it rolls around. If you want some extra coin, go to wyvern isle in the swamp, retrieve the head of the queen wyvern and present it to your fat king.” 

Triss gasped. “You can’t mean that!” she exclaimed. “Yennefer, you can’t just run away from it all!” 

There was no reply from the witcher, who hoisted herself into the saddle and turned the horse to the road. 

“Tissaia needs you,” Triss tried in a more gentle tone. She walked up to Yennefer and was about to lay a hand on her leg when the yellow eyed woman grabbed it by the wrist and directed it away from her. 

“She doesn’t  _ need _ me,” Yennefer said, fixing her eyes on Triss’. “And I don’t need her.” 

With those words, she dropped the sorceress’ hand, grasped the reins and spurned the horse into a trot, swiftly riding away from the cabin and all who resided there.

* * *

_ (Check out this awesome art by riverstyxgoddess! Link to her tumblr is in the notes)  _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The fic is not even halfway done yet!   
> Please don't hurt us. 
> 
> Features art by:   
> https://riverstyxgoddess.tumblr.com/


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please listen to the soundtrack! I composed a little song that Jaskier sings. The instrumental version is up on soundcloud, and I (braz) sing a bit of it in Greypaws' narration. 
> 
> How is my singing?

[Greypaws](https://soundcloud.com/user-100350749) · [Still Waters Chapter 15](https://soundcloud.com/user-100350749/still-waters-chapter-15)

_(Narration by Greypaws!)_

* * *

[brazenedMinstrel](https://soundcloud.com/user-768938233) · [Still Waters - Her Lady-Witcher](https://soundcloud.com/user-768938233/still-waters-her-lady-witcher)

_(Soundtrack by braz, this is what Jaskier sings!)_

* * *

Yennefer stared into her mug of ale. Around her, the great hall of Kaer Morhen was alive with chatter and music. She sighed, trying to block out the figures dancing at the corners of her vision. Literally, because Lark and the trio of their youngest trainees who had finished their trials were dancing on the tables. Witchers, most of them, should not dance, and yet here they were, stomping along to an even rhythm on a strum lute. 

Right, the lute. The lute and the bard that was attached to it. And said bard that was attached to Geralt, most of the time. 

For the two weeks she had been home, Yennefer had never seen the somewhat slight, soft-faced, brown haired man far from Geralt’s side. He had brought the musician along to stay the winter, as he had told Yennefer a few days ago. There was a twinkle in his eyes that she rarely saw, and he was smiling more often than usual. 

With a distasteful frown, Yennefer put her mug down and was about to leave the hall, when Anica plopped down on the bench beside her. “So -,” she said, slinging her boots up on the wooden table and taking a long swig of ale. “ - were you planning on going to hunt soon, Yen?” 

“Hmm, not really. Unless someone needs me, but otherwise I was mostly thinking of spending the winter here with… that over there, apparently,” Yennefer replied, nodding at where the bard was doing his utmost best to sing louder than the other witchers could stomp. 

“Well, they’re not that bad, you know. Fola, Murta and Glacella are their names. Started a bit young, so we’re keeping them from big hunts until after the winter-” 

“Not the newest witchers of our school, Anica, I didn't mean them. I’m sure they’re fine. Might get eaten in a few years, but fine for now. I meant the music man. Surprised he’s not trying to climb into Geralt’s lap by now.” 

“Ohh, you mean Jaskier.” Anica grinned. “He brings some life to this dark place. I’m sure even you can appreciate that. His songs aren’t half bad, too.” She turned to Yennefer, a somewhat more severe look on her face. “I understand it though, taking a break from the hunts for the worst of the winter. My last one was... a trip, for sure. Had to chase a chort halfway across the Blue Mountains. That was not fun.” 

Anica meant well, and Yennefer knew this. Still, she had trouble finding a good response that would not betray how conflicted she felt. “Not fun would summarize my hunt too. Lost both my swords to the wyvern queen. And a bunch of equipment, too.” 

‘And my heart to a sorceress’ she added in her mind. Then, she stood up and clapped Anica on the shoulder. “Well, I’m going to see why flower man is so quiet and what Geralt’s up to.” 

She got her answer soon enough. The two were bent over a piece of parchment. Jaskier held a quill in his hand, sucking on the tip of it while he pondered about his songs. To his left, Geralt was oddly concentrated on whatever his companion was writing, nodding every now and then to what Jaskier said. 

“What rhymes with ‘place’, Geralt?” he wondered aloud. “Space, embrace, disgrace… mace? Hmm, mace might work.” 

As engrossed into his craft as he was, he didn’t seem to notice Yennefer’s approach. Standing up, he recited: “Do you feel like a piece is missing, when you leave her place? Oh, tell me, lady-witcher… do you feel a need to grasp your mace? No, no that doesn’t work. Maybe if I switch them around?”

Sitting back down, he began to write anew, reorganising the verse and muttering under his breath. “But what would work, Geralt? Geralt! Some ideas here, please?” 

“How about “write a song about me and I will mess up your face?’” Yennefer mumbled as she walked up to behind the bard and watched him jump with a crooked grin.

“Hello Yennefer,” Geralt said as she sat next to the pair. His tone was gruff yet even, just as it always was, but she could sense just the slightest amount of something akin to discomfort, hesitation perhaps.

“No need to get protective of your flower man, I’m not actually going to harm him. Not yet at least,” she added as she glared over the rim of her mug at the dark haired bard who’s previously jovial mood seemed to have stifled.

“Right,” the bard said somewhat nervously, shifting closer to Geralt as he fiddled with the quill in his hand. “I’ll just… I’ll just go back to what I was doing.”

Yennefer smiled victoriously to herself as the bard quietly huddled over his parchment, mumbling incoherently and humming some kind of tune which she had to admit was catchy. Geralt shook his head at her and exhaled, a slight smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. “It has been too long, Yennefer.”

“That it has been, little wolf.” Yennefer grinned, Geralt’s company felt like home again. Even if he had dragged the Continent’s most annoying bard to Kaer Morhen along with him. Sometimes when she looked at Geralt, she still saw that frightened boy. The one who would follow her to the ends of the world just to be exactly like her. Oftentimes she wondered if that had been a good thing or a bad thing, especially once she got a good look at all of the new scars he had acquired since their last meeting.

“I’ve heard you’ve been busy,” Geralt said as he picked up a half-eaten chicken wing from a nearby plate, earning a glance from Jaskier.

“Careful, love, try not to get any grease on the parchment. This original document will fetch good coin once every tavern across the Continent is asking, no… pleading, for me to play this song in their establishment. I can’t have you devaluing it,” the bard said as he softly jabbed an elbow into Geralt’s side with a smile.

_(Art by Greypaws!)_

Yennefer huffed and rolled her eyes at the display, though in her heart she felt an ache at the sight of that stupid bard and his silly grin, all the while gazing upon Geralt. She recalled Tissaia’s smile, on the rare occasion that she cast one, and how it had changed over the years since they had known each other. The way her voice pitched upwards instead of downwards as she worried over her injuries, that had changed as well.

Finally acknowledging that Geralt had asked her a question, she responded, her eyes affixed to her half empty mug of flat ale. “I have been, it was mostly contract work. There were a few things which fell into my lap, and a couple of personal projects.”

Jaskier ceased his scribbling upon parchment in order to look at her inquisitively. “Details?” he smirked with a mischievously raised brow. He adjusted the quill in his hand, positioning it to jot down whatever it was which spilled from her lips next as he pulled a blank piece of parchment from the bottom of the pile.

“No,” Yennefer said, nearly singing it to the bard. She looked to Geralt, ignoring Jaskier as he muttered something which may have been the words, ‘fine, suit yourself’.

Geralt’s jaw tightened and his brow furrowed slightly. Yennefer could tell he had more questions for her, ones which she suspected involved a certain sorceress she was trying so very hard not to think about right now. He exhaled, and so did she, relieved that he appeared to be leaving it alone for now, especially in front of his companion who had returned to whatever ridiculous song he was writing.

“And just where are you getting your information about me from? Bards, like him?” Yennefer shoved her mug aside with the tips of her fingers, disinterested in its contents.

“Yennefer, you know how this stuff works.” Geralt tossed the bone he had practically licked clean back onto the plate before holding his hand out towards Jaskier. The bard ceased humming a quiet melody as he scratched at his parchment with the quill, just long enough to fish a linen cloth from his pocket and hand it to Geralt.

“Oh, do I? Please, brother, enlighten me. Tell me how stuff works.”

Geralt leaned forward, his amber eyes met hers. “Us witchers live an isolated life. If we even sleep, we wake up some nights covered in dried blood and with a new scar on our face. We don’t have the luxury of a messenger delivering the news of the Continent to our doorstep. The songs I hear about you, Yennefer… as obscure as they are, those songs are sometimes the only way that I know you’re still alive.”

Her eyes shut, knowing he spoke the truth. She had found herself staring blankly into the night sky, on several occasions, wondering if Geralt was safe. Her only confirmation of that fact had been from the songs she had heard about the Butcher of Blaviken during her travels. They had been painful for her to hear, as she knew there had been more to what the lyrics had said. For she knew her little brother, and she knew that the songs which were sung about him were only half true.

_The Butcher’s brute blade hew_   
_The rogue princess’ head_   
_She fell on ground askew_   
_Her blood pouring red_

Knowing just how many songs he had most likely heard about her and Tissaia as well, Yennefer stood and cast a poignant look towards the bard which sat beside Geralt. “Then you also know that sometimes those songs contain an ample amount of bullshit as well.”

Geralt followed her as she stormed towards the exit, hoping to leave the jovial atmosphere of the wolven mess hall behind for the night. She stopped as she felt his vice-like grip around her forearm, her hand rested atop the iron handle of the door.

“Of course I know those songs are bullshit. I know you didn’t pull that djinn from the sky and throw it back into its bottle without any issue. That’s how the djinn song goes… The great Yennefer of Vengerberg saved the city of Rinde and its resident sorceress from impending doom. But I know there is more to that story, I can tell by the look in your eyes anytime anyone says the name ‘Tissaia’, or mentions the word ‘sorceress’.”

Yennefer tried to pull herself from his grip as she pushed through the door, but Geralt only tightened his grasp. She lashed out. “You don’t know anything!” 

“Maybe not, but I do know this… being what we are is painful.” Geralt said as he paused to look over his shoulder at the stupid bard who seemed to be completely absorbed in whatever it was he was writing. “But, being what we are with someone who will follow us to the ends of the Continent makes everything hurt less. Trust me on that, sister.”

If she could have ignited Kaer Morhen into flames at that very moment, she would have. Such was the effect that Geralt’s reasoning had on her. But her command over Igni would never have given her that kind of power, not like it would if she'd been a sorceress instead of a witcher. She settled for silently tugging herself out of Geralt’s grip and making a beeline for the training dummies which lined the southern wall. Far away from prying eyes and hovering rumours.

There was a new sword being forged for her, so she had to settle for a duller, temporary blade. Despite the encroaching dusk, she could see fine with her enhanced eyes. Her movements were sharp, practiced, ingrained into her muscles. Still, she felt a certain distraction. Surprisingly, it felt familiar. 

Long ago, longer than she sometimes cared to remember, she had felt the same. It had been born from a different kind of love, but it had certainly been there. Days, she had waited, while anxiety gnawed at her every time she looked at the great keep. Somewhere in there, she’d known, her little wolf brother was going through his trials. She hadn’t known if Geralt would emerge alive, or if he’d ever be the same person. 

She had been distracted then too. Doralis had whacked her on the side of the head with a sword and she had gotten increasingly sloppy. Still, her mind hadn’t gathered itself until she had known for certain that Geralt was still alive, and now boasted the same yellow eyes as she did. 

He had, and shortly thereafter they had both fully committed to the life of a witcher. 

The straw head of the training dummy fell onto the ground as her sword bit into the rod inside its neck. She panted, thrusting the dull sword into the ground and sighing. Training was not helping, she still felt like a pile of shit. 

Footsteps approached her. Recognising Geralt’s tread, she turned on her heels, watching as the taller witcher approached through the dark courtyard. His eyes were black in the night, pupils widened completely. “You’re not yourself, Yen,” he said, nodding at the splintered training dummy. 

“Leave me alone for a few days and I’ll return to normal.” Yennefer made a move to pick up her sword, but she was blocked by Geralt, who tried to lay a hand on her arm again.

“I don’t like to see you this way, Yennefer,” he tried. 

Tugging herself free, Yennefer mumbled: “Then don’t.” She shrugged him off and walked away, into the dark corridors. 

~~~

Not seeing Geralt was next to impossible. This wasn’t even because he sought her out. No, it was because of the bard. 

The bard that sat in the windowsill of the room he shared with Geralt, every morning at sunrise. And he sang. Or he played on various instruments. Cheerful tunes on a lute that carried into the courtyard where the trainees were sweating. Jigs on a shawm that penetrated the thick stone walls and made Yennefer cover her head with a pillow. Not because they were bad, but because she wanted to sleep. Some difficult melodies that he must’ve picked up at one court or another on a transverse flute that were somehow still loud enough to rouse her. 

This day, four days after she had been sulking in the hall, it was a song. 

_“I know a lady-witcher_   
_Who can kill you with her look_   
_Her eyes, like stars in the dark”_

“Fuck’s sake,” Yennefer mumbled as she hobbled to the window. There he was. Jaskier, sitting in the window dressed in a bright red tunic with poofy sleeves and breeches with the threads at his waist distinctly dangling open. 

He strummed on his lute and sang on: 

_“But in her roughened, calloused hands_   
_A sorceress she took_   
_The spell, they said, hit its mark_

_So tell me, lady-witcher_   
_Do you thirst for her embrace?_   
_Do you feel like a piece is missing_   
_When you leave her place?”_

That struck far too close to home. She threw open the window and yelled: “Jaskier!” 

He looked over and she could swear that she saw him smirk. Shifting his fingers, he took a deep breath and belted out the next verse over a few chords. 

_“I heard the people say they slayed_   
_A wyvern, from the sky_   
_They fought with spells and violence_

_Yes, from Temeria to Cintra_   
_Tales told do not lie_   
_Yet now, I've heard only silence”_

It wasn’t exactly wrong, but there was a telltale and far too familiar sting in her chest. Throwing on a shirt and trousers, she made her way to the courtyard. There, she stared up at the window where he sat, legs crossed, leaning against the windowsill with his lute across his lap. 

“Would you shut up?!” Yennefer exclaimed. In return, the little man winked and stuck out his tongue. 

_“So tell me, lady-witcher_   
_Why, after many a year_   
_Why are you here in Kaer Morhen_   
_And she is nowhere near”_

Yennefer clenched her hands into tight fists as he added a cheery folkish tune on his lute. She would destroy him and Geralt both. For singing the song and for giving Jaskier the details about her misfortune with Tissaia in the first place. 

Later in the hall, she confronted them. As Jaskier comfortably walked to one of the tables with a plate full of breakfast in his hands, she grabbed him by the back of his shirt. Yelping, he tripped, dropped the plate and was pinned against the wall by a furious Yennefer within seconds. 

“Next time you sing that tune, or any other, I will get a crossbow and shoot you down from the window,” she seethed. From the corner of her eye, she saw Anica laugh as Jaskier sputtered and struggled. Then Geralt approached them both, sighing deep in his chest. 

“Let him go, Yen, he’s just a bard,” he mumbled. “Born and studied to be a troublemaker.” 

“I much prefer the term ‘artist’, dearest. Naturally inclined to stir up the feelings every now and then, we are. I thrive upon others’ stories of peril,” Jaskier said as he squirmed out of Yennefer’s grasp and attached himself to Geralt’s side. They made for a very mismatched pair, the hulking witcher and the soft poet. 

Geralt was not so easily swayed. “Whatever you want to be, just don’t bother Yen. She’s had enough trouble already.” 

The troubles didn’t appear to be over yet. For just as it was impossible to avoid Geralt, so was it impossible to avoid the song. Fragments of it kept being sung in the great hall, in the training grounds and the melody was catchy enough that half of Kaer Morhen was soon humming it. And every time Yennefer heard a few notes, she was reminded of what she had done. Fleeing from the cabin, leaving Tissaia behind, failing to confront or understand what she felt. 

One evening, a few days after the first snowfall, she was looking out over the valley from the ramparts of the keep. She hardly felt the chill of winter anymore, especially not here, so adapted had she become to the cold. The Gwenllech river, which cut through the valley, had frozen over completely.

As she peered at the snow capped peaks of the great mountains, wondering if she should venture down to the frozen river and crack through the ice for some fishing, she heard a distinct set of footsteps approaching.

“Hello, Geralt,” she said, the condensation from her breath spiraling through the air before fading as he walked up and stood beside her, gazing out over the valley as well.

“Hello Yennefer,” he replied, his voice gruff, as he cast a sidelong glance in her direction. “You don’t have to pretend with me. I know you aren’t up here to admire the view. I can tell when something is troubling you. And you don’t need to hide, not with me.”

Yennefer felt her eyes shut, the sting enhanced by the cold as the tears which formed began to freeze. “It’s that stupid bard, Jaskier, and his song.” Even she heard the venom in her tone as she spoke his name.

Geralt hummed. “This isn’t about Jaskier and his silly song.”

“But it is!” Yennefer pushed herself away from the walls of the ramparts, turning to look Geralt in the eyes, “because it’s true!”

The white-haired wolf took a step forward, his arm extended as if he wanted nothing more than to pull her into an embrace. Yennefer turned away, hiding the tears which solidified along her eyelashes. She tried to wipe them away with a leather gauntlet, to no avail. Geralt rested his hand on her shoulder and through her own muffled sob, she heard him say: “I know it is, I know.”

“Do you thirst for her embrace?” Yennefer nearly sang it just the way she had heard it over and over in the mess hall. “Yes, I do, even though I’ve never felt it.”

She felt Geralt’s strong arms pull her closer, his silent presence was such a comfort.

“Do you feel like a piece is missing, when you leave her place?” She recited the lyrics to the song in a mocking tone as her brother’s arms surrounded her. “I do feel like that, Geralt. I feel as if something is missing whenever I leave and she’s nowhere to be found. Whenever I leave her and am nowhere to be found.”

“It’s alright to feel that way, Yennefer,” Geralt said as he rested his chin atop her head.

“I thought she was going to die, and the way I felt when I thought I would have to suffer that loss, It felt as if…it felt as if I would die as well. And the more I hear that stupid, catchy song, the more I realize that I shouldn’t be here, with the soceress nowhere near. I should be in Rinde, with her.”

Geralt hummed as Yennefer quietly sobbed into his chest. “That’s why you’ve come back to Kaer Morhen, to run from your broken heart.”

Yennefer nodded her head, looking to the frozen banks of the Gwenllech river, already searching for another opportunity to flee.

  
~~~

Yennefer knelt down, lowering her fishing rod to the ground as she leaned against a tree by the bank of the frozen river. Inhaling the cool, crisp air of a winter’s morning, she affixed her eyes on the ice. She unsheathed the small bone handled dagger she’d worn since before she could remember and poised it above her head, readying herself to crack through the thick crust of ice. There were fish running beneath its frozen surface and she was determined to catch them.

Just as she was about to break the ice, a small throwing axe sunk deep into the frozen trunk of the tree just next to the river. Her head snapped quickly to the road which ran parallel to the river and directly into Kaer Morhen.

“Oh fuck my life,” Yennefer uttered under her breath as she stood, throwing her dagger straight into the ground out of frustration. “Fuck my entire life.”

Upon the path rode another witcher, the large, sturdy horse just as cocky and self-assured as its rider. Of the bear school she was, and her hair spilled around her broad shoulders like flames. Yes, Yennefer knew her well.

Coral, it had to be fucking Coral.

The Red-Haired Bear locked onto her with yellow eyes which were green around the pupil, all the while flaunting her characteristic smirk as she casually rode along. Yennefer could feel the smugness radiating from the other woman’s body as she finally greeted her.

“Hey, wolfie.”

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lute, shawm and transverse flute are all period accurate instruments! I (braz) picked that up at my study composing :) 
> 
> Please listen to the soundtrack! I composed a little song that Jaskier sings. The instrumental version is up on soundcloud, and I (braz) sing a bit of it in Greypaws' narration. 
> 
> How is my singing?


	16. Chapter 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We've been hyped to write Coral since the beginning of the fic! Hope you like her antics too  
> She biiiig rectangle

[Greypaws](https://soundcloud.com/user-100350749) · [Still Waters Chapter 16](https://soundcloud.com/user-100350749/still-waters-chapter-16)

_(Narration by Greypaws!)_

* * *

"Why are you here?” Yennefer asked gruffly as she sat herself down across the table from Coral. “Barging into our castle, eating our food, demanding a room for the night?”  
  


“Relax, wolfie. Your stores will last ‘till spring,” Coral said, tearing off another piece of bread and chewing thoroughly before continuing. “I rode here ‘cause Phil’s still travelling. She couldn’t portal me here. Court’s busy for her.” 

“Nothing you just said makes sense.” Eyeing the woman’s heavy cloak, big enough to cover her from head to toe, Yennefer huffed and fixed her eyes on Coral. “Why here, in Kaer Morhen? Shouldn’t you be poking around in Skellige? I thought you like hunting in cold weather.” 

She did not  _ hate _ Coral, not necessarily. Rather, she  _ disliked _ the tall, bulky, fiery haired witcher quite a bit. Coral was loud, brash, liked to boast about her kills and she had this infuriating aura of smugness. Every time she and Yennefer met, the latter had always been goaded into a wrestling match, and forced to let herself be thrown onto the ground by the six foot tall woman. 

“I do, but that’s why I need some help from over here,” Coral said in response to her question. “There’s an interesting contract in Skellige that I’ve taken on, but I -  _ Ah _ , there’s Ves.”

Standing up, she chose to ignore Yennefer in favour of turning to Vesemir, who approached. Yennefer stood too, because she refused to be twice as small as Coral, as she was when sitting down. 

“Astrid, it’s good to see you,” Vesemir cordially said, firmly shaking the woman’s hand. “What brings you here?” 

Sometimes, Yennefer forgot that Coral had a name. An actual name that did not reference the blood corals of the south, which were as red as her hair. She listened closely as the Skellige-born woman talked with her mentor. 

Running a hand through her wild hair, Coral said: “I took on an interesting contract. The leshen on Ard Skellig. Not a particularly nice trip to my homeland, but I need to get rid of this thing. People have already started to worship it, so I’ve heard.” 

Vesemir frowned. “The bear school has an outpost on Ard Skellig. Is the nostalgia so great, or is no one there capable enough of hunting it down?” 

“The only one who’s there is usually old Forbes, and she doesn’t really hunt anymore.” Coral shrugged and leaned against the point of the table. “She usually bosses some bearlings around, but I don’t want to get them hurt by dragging them into this. So I came here, to see if anyone would lend me a paw.” 

“We’re next best, is that what you want to say?” Yennefer chimed in, throwing a glare at the taller woman, who had the guts to hum an affirmative. She was becoming more unbearable by the minute, even though she had only been in Kaer Morhen for an hour at best. 

“You could take Geralt with you, he is one of my best,” Vesemir said, clearly determined not to let the situation escalate between the two hotheaded women. 

Immediately, Coral’s expression tightened. She cast her eyes downwards and shook her head. “I will not hunt with him.” 

“And why not? What’s wrong with Geralt?” Yennefer puffed out her chest as she looked up at the much taller woman.

Finally, Coral seemed inclined to pay just the slightest amount of attention to her. The massive woman turned towards her and stepped closer. She was a good head and a half taller than Yennefer, and seemed to have the broad muscles to match. Her smug attitude had always infuriated her, usually because it entailed the fiery-haired woman challenging her to some type of competition she always ended up losing. The red-haired bear had always reminded her of a very sturdy rectangle, one which would throw you up against a wall and then laugh at you based on the way you stood up.

“Because  _ I don’t want  _ to hunt with Geralt. I don’t think I owe you an explanation,” Coral barked at her before returning her focus to Vesemir.

The elder witcher turned, steepling his fingers together and drawing them to his lips in a contemplative manner.

Before he had a chance to open his mouth and respond, Yennefer let out a long and drawn out sigh. “Anica just returned from a mission, said she’s taking a break for the winter, had to chase a chort halfway across the Blue Mountains.”

The bear witcher let out the most disgusted scoff Yennefer had ever heard. “Do any of you wolves actually hunt?” She shook her head before turning away from the both of them. “What about the one with the scars on his face?

Yennefer felt her own newly acquired scar sting at Coral’s words. Her brow furrowed and her cheeks felt hot. “We all have scars on our face, even you!”

Vesemir shot her a sharp look, one which she had remembered from the day's past. “If you mean Eskel, you won’t find him here. While usually he does overwinter in Kaer Morhen, swapping exaggerated tales with the rest of the pack, I haven’t seen him yet.

Coral held her hands up as she shrugged, several expletives in Skellige fell from her lips. Yennefer’s jaw clenched at the sight of the other woman’s arrogant display. Just as Yennefer was about to offer a snarky retort, she heard the echoes of the song which had been haunting her for weeks.

It wasn’t even the entire song, she noticed as she tilted her head just slightly. It was only the instrumental portion of the song, though Yennefer could hear the words to it just as clear as day. She had listened to the catchy tune so many times.

_ So tell me, lady-witcher _

_ Do you thirst for her embrace? _

Unwilling to allow the bear a chance to pick up on her discomfort, she chimed in.

“I’ll do it then.”

Both Coral and Vesemir paused to look at her.

If the situation had been better, Yennefer would probably have enjoyed the look of utter surprise on Coral’s face. Instead, because of what was ruminating in her mind, she only sighed. “What? I don’t want any of our three youngest to jump into this mess with you and end up dead. When are we leaving?” 

“Tomorrow at sunrise, but we’re not riding far.” Coral seemed content with herself and her hunting partner. She flashed a crooked, smug little grin as she picked up her cloak and a steel sword big enough to qualify as a spade. 

“Skellige is far away. Were you planning to go over the river by boat? It’s all frozen over.” 

“No, no, Wolfie,” Coral said as she turned towards the stairs that led to the higher levels of the keep. “We have something much better than a boat. We have a sorceress.” 

~~~

As they rode, Yennefer felt her stomach twisting.  _ A sorceress _ . Surely, Coral couldn’t mean Tissaia. She knew that the two were acquainted, but Tissaia must have better things to do in Rinde. Or perhaps she was still recovering with Triss. The image of a pale, weakened Tissaia flashed through her head again and Yennefer winced. Yes, this hunt would serve as a good distraction. 

Coral held still, her horse scraping at the ground for a few moments after she dismounted. Briskly, she walked to a small, wooden pier beside the frozen river. It was half covered with snow and the ice had crept up the supporting beams. The red haired woman looked around, seemingly scanning the skies for something. 

Raven snorted nervously when Yennefer dismounted too. She stroked over his nose for a few moments, calming the horse. Then he suddenly neighed, jerking her hands off and twitching all over his body. 

A shape flew over the witcher and her horse. Soundlessly, a large snowy owl glided towards the riverbank in a single wingstroke. Coral held up her arm, and the bird landed on her forearm guard. Its talons fit perfectly into gouges that it had clearly carved in before. Smiling, Coral tugged the glove off her free hand with her teeth, scratching the owl on its feathered head and under its chin. “Come on, love, we need that portal,” she softly said, in a tone Yennefer had never heard from her. 

She could swear that the owl huffed, before it flew off Coral’s arm and around her head, brushing a wing into her face. Coral chuckled and wiped her nose, but Yennefer couldn’t keep her eyes on the oddly cute smile that graced her face. This was because where the owl had landed on the snow covered ground now stood a woman. 

Her hair was tied in two long braids, draped over her shoulders. The structure of her face was halfway in between soft and sharp, with high cheekbones and a sharp chin, but the soft skin of a mage blessed with a perfect disposition. Her eyes were oddly dark brown, deep and piercing no matter how the rest of her expression was. She had no small stature, but the top of her head scarcely reached Coral’s nose. 

The dress she wore was deep red, with floral motifs in black and gold thread embroidered upon it. It sported a wide neckline that bared quite a bit of her pale chest. She seemed unbothered by the cold. The perks of being a sorceress. 

“Who is that?” she asked in a sharp yet somewhat deep voice. Everything from how she held herself, to her clothing, to the elegant arc of her pronunciation seemed befit for someone who served at a royal court. Most certainly not for someone who had any interaction with Coral, yet here the two stood side by side. 

“ _ This _ is Yennefer of Vengerberg,” Coral replied, her smug smile slipping back onto her lips. 

“ _ That _ is Yennefer of Vengerberg?” The sorceress turned to the taller woman and frowned, tipping her head to the side as if she could not believe her ears. 

Coral snorted quietly. “Told you she’s not too bad looking.” 

The sorceress approached Yennefer, looking her over from tip to toe. They stood at about the same height, but could not be more different. The witcher felt as if the air between them was thick with tension, like she was standing before Sabrina all over again. 

“I still don’t understand why Tissaia is so obsessed with her,” the mage said, looking Yennefer straight into the eyes, not fearing her reaction. “Well, I suppose we all have our oddities in love. My name is Philippa Eilhart, advisor to Redania’s court. You have kept the sorceress of our second biggest city quite distracted, the past few years.”   
  
“What do you know about Tissaia?” Yennefer sharply asked her. She stepped closer, but Philippa had already turned and walked away, seemingly content with her examination of Yennefer. 

As she began spinning spells for a portal into the air, Coral said: “Later… I’ll tell you later, wolfie.” 

“Be sure not to leave out details,” Philippa said. A sharp inhale followed the sentence and she gestured with an arm in the air. “You know, how the three of us met.  _ That _ moment, specifically. It seems good for her to know if she still wants to pursue this.” 

Her expression softened after that. She walked up to Coral and lifted her head marginally, raising a dark eyebrow. 

Coral leaned down a little. “You always want me to lower myself, when we have company,” she said before pressing her lips to Philippa’s painted ones and kissing her for what felt like a solid ten seconds too long, in Yennefer’s opinion. 

“Love, you enjoy it far too much when I get up on my toes to reach you,” Philippa whispered against Coral’s lips. She was quiet, but Yennefer’s enhanced hearing picked it up regardless. And based on the way Philippa wore a smirk identical to her lover’s when she turned, the sorceress had done it on purpose. “I will take care of the horses. You two need to hunt. And  _ you _ better be careful.” 

Coral laughed. “I’m always careful, my lady-owl.” 

Hesitantly, Yennefer handed Raven’s reins to Philippa, catching a whiff of her sweet perfume when the woman brushed past her. Court mages were usually a pain in the ass, and it seemed like Philippa was no exception. Her portal was stable enough, however. Yennefer stepped through it, following Coral. Her boots soon touched the crisp, snow covered ground in a pine forest. 

“We’re just outside the outpost,” Coral said as she pulled her thick cloak a bit more tightly around herself. “The Bear School’s secondary base, essentially.” 

Yennefer pulled the hood of her own cloak, black with warm fur around the collar, up over her hair and nodded. “Good. Where’s the leshen?” she asked as she hiked along with Coral through the frosty woods. 

“Also on Ard Skellig, this island. But it’s half a day’s hike from here. I’m just going to pick something up from the outpost, then we can start walking to where it’s been making itself right at home. We’ll make camp along the way somewhere.” 

“What are you going to pick up?” Yennefer laid a hand on her silver sword. It was the smaller one of the two new ones she carried with her. Small enough to be hung from her belt instead of on her back like the steel one. 

“You’ll see,” Coral said with a cheerful lilt in her voice.

Yennefer followed the arrogant bear regardless of how much she second guessed her decision to tag along. Ahead of them, were several structures made of wood. Their build was sturdy enough despite the fact that their roofs seemed to be made of a mixture of reed and straw.

Just as they approached the largest structure in the center of the outpost, Coral raised a hand to Yennefer, giving her no choice but to stop and wait.

“You’re unclean,” Coral scoffed. “Need to purify you before you enter the elder’s hut.”

“Enter the what?” Yennefer replied as the bear witcher closed her eyes and began to recite something in some kind of Skelligan jargon before placing a hand on Yennefer’s chest. Towards the end of the incantation she opened her eyes and let out an infuriating laugh, shoving Yennefer back slightly with one brisk stroke. Yennefer growled as she followed the much taller woman into the glorified hut.

The atmosphere inside the structure was much different, Yennefer noticed. It was dark, the only source of light was from the brazier which sat in the center of the room. The flickering flames cast sharp shadows against the walls, and Yennefer watched them dance as they approached a woman who was seated in a fur lined chair just in front of the brazier.

“You think I didn’t hear that?” the very imposing woman said without moving an inch. "’You stink like wolf shit and bad romantic decisions.’ Very creative.” 

“There’s two people in this room who can’t take a joke,” Coral huffed, looking sideways at Yennefer as the wolf school witcher flared her nostrils and shot her an especially foul look. “And I’m not one of them. Anyways, hi Forbes, it’s been forever.” 

“Likewise.” The woman rose from her chair then, walking up to the other two witchers. 

Yennefer had always thought Coral to be the tallest woman on the Continent, yet now she was proven very wrong. This elder witcher stood about an inch taller than her fellow bear. It amused Yennefer slightly that even Coral had to tilt her head a little to look her into the eyes, despite the fact that she did that by jutting out her chin with that smugness she always seemed to exude. 

A worn bear school medallion dangled from a leather cord around the woman’s neck. It was so old that time had smoothed it out almost entirely. Her hair was a ragged mop of white strands, from age instead of from the trials. It was the only thing that betrayed how ancient the woman was, since her face was barely wrinkled and her eyes were still bright. Such were the everlasting effects of the trial of the grasses. 

Blue runic tattoos dotted her brow and the bridge of her large nose. In fact, when Yennefer looked more closely, she noticed that the giantess had a line of inked dots in place of each eyebrow. For clothing, she seemed to wear several garments in tints of grey and brown. A tunic, breeches and a robe, though it was hard to see where one ended and the other began. 

“Why are you here, red bearling?” Forbes asked Coral. 

“To hunt the leshen of Fayrlund, since no one else will, apparently.” With her eyes, Coral roamed the walls of the hut, until they affixed on an axe that hung over the fireplace. An odd glimmer began to shine within the yellow of her eyes as she grinned.    
  
Forbes turned to see what the younger witcher was looking at and shook her head. “I meant here, at the outpost.” 

“ _ Oh _ , to pick up my bardiche. The one that Philippa enchanted last time I was here. It’ll be useful against the leshen. Big axe for a big tree - tree monster… thing.” Coral’s eyes were still affixed on the axe, making Yennefer wonder what was so special about it. 

Then Forbes stepped forward and lifted Coral’s chin with a single finger, wearing a distasteful look. “Carmine, in the corner of your mouth,” she mumbled, before letting go and walking back to the chair near the hearth. “The bardiche is in the weapon storage.” 

“ _ Ah _ .” Coral wiped her mouth with the back of her hand, inspecting the red smudge. “That’s Phillipa’s. My sorceress lover has pretty painted lips.” She took the point of her cloak and cleaned her fingers. 

As she walked back to the entrance and beckoned for Yennefer to follow, she turned to the older witcher one more time. “You’re getting old, Forbes, if you need to rest now before training the recruits that overwinter here. Maybe you should consider giving me that axe so I can make it useful before it gets dull!” 

“You’ve never been a particularly fast runner, Astrid,” Forbes mused. “Enduring, but not fast.” 

Wincing, Coral tugged on Yennefer’s sleeve. “Let’s go,” she quietly said as she dragged the wolf witcher with her to the outside. As they walked around the building, she elaborated. “Don’t mind Forbes, she’s always been like that. Grouchy. And ancient, that too. She was already old when I met Phil and Tissaia right here, for the first time. Didn’t like Phil then, still doesn’t like her now. Especially not now I’ve hooked up with her.” 

“However that happened,” Yennefer grumbled. 

Coral laughed as they approached the back of the hut. There was another building there that looked like a reinforced shed. “Not all sorceresses have sticks up their asses, wolfie,” she said as she opened the door and walked towards the back of the weapons storage. “But it’s a funny story. I’ll tell you by the fire, tonight.” 

While the outside of the weapons storage was nothing spectacular, Yennefer’s eyes widened just a bit once she entered, the scent of metal permeated the air. Sturdy racks lined the interior walls, each one filled with weapons. Massive weapons, from spears and polearms, to hammers and axes. Several heavy oaken shields hung on the walls. They were painted in various colors and the ones which weren’t too riddled with damage had the emblem of the bear school decorating the surface.

Yennefer rapped the back of her knuckles against an especially weathered shield. “I thought your  _ entire body _ was a shield.”

Coral made her way to a rack of weapons furthest from where Yennefer stood. She let out a long and drawn out sigh as she rifled through various weapons, “It’s true, we are built to absorb much more damage than a fragile wolf, but one must know when to prepare properly for a fight.” The bear witcher then paused, glancing over her shoulder at Yennefer as she shot a toothy smirk in her direction. “Our shields are especially capable at blocking things such as… a forktail barb.”

“Oh fuck off, that was years ago. Forbes is right, you aren’t very creative,” Yennefer said as she thumbed the sharp edge of a steel longsword.

“She said I was  _ very creative _ .”

Yennefer huffed and mumbled under her breath: “Not very bright either.”

“Careful wolfie, you’ll sink your teeth into more than you can handle.  _ Ah! _ Here it is!” Coral lifted the bardiche she had been searching for from the rack and slammed the butt end of it onto the floor with a heavy clack. The weapon was nearly as tall as Coral was, and Yennefer noticed the distinct blue glow of enchantment runes running along it’s curved slicing blade.

Yennefer stepped back a few paces as Coral clutched the weapon in both hands, squaring up her stance before lunging forward and swiping the air as if there were an invisible foe standing before her. The weapon resembled something of a glorified axe and sword hybrid, or an axe head on a long pole. Yennefer could see why Coral wanted to take this particular weapon to battle the leshen.

Nodding her head as she stepped closer to the red-haired woman, once she was finished with her display, she asked: “What’s the enchantment?”

Coral turned on her heel and headed towards the exit, a smile on her face. “I’ll explain, let's be on our way, winter daylight hours are sacred, best use them wisely.”

As they set off towards Fayrlund, Coral spun the weapon about in her hand, the light reflecting off of its honed blade. “It’s enchanted to keep whatever oil I apply to it from wearing off during the battle. Also increases its potency. Brought plenty of relict oil with me, that’ll cut this leshen down to size.”

For as much of an ass that the bear witcher could be, Yennefer had to confess that Coral was clever and efficient when it came to battle. If there was a shortcut to victory, she was bound to take it. She couldn’t fault her for that, she herself carried that same mentality.

“What about that big axe, the one you were so greedily eyeing in the elder’s hut? What’s the story with that?”

Once again, the red-haired bear had a gleam in her eye. “The wielder of that axe carries the legacy of the School of the Bear with it. It belonged to Grandmaster Arnaghad, founder of the school, who used it to nearly cleave Rhys into two just before the school’s inception. It’s always been passed down to the strongest witcher. No one knows who gave it to him, but just before his death, he gave it to Forbes.”

Yennefer chuckled mischievously. “And you want it, but Forbes is still alive.”

Coral cast a fierce, yellow-eyed gaze in her direction. “After his death I came back to claim it, but turns out Forbes is immortal, or so it’s told. She isn't, of course, but she’s old. Doubt she even knows how long she’s been around. And I can’t win a duel from her, while having enough limbs left to use the axe afterwards. So my only claim to it is that fact that I’m the most active witcher of the school, while she just sits in the outpost and trains recruits.”

“And so you’re stuck staring at it until she dies, but you don’t know when that will be,” Yennefer said with a smirk, glad that she could be the one to wear it now. 

Coral led her through a thick forest, over wild rivers that still streamed under a rugged ice crust and in between mountains. Skellige was wild, and beautiful, but in a rough and untamed way. They still made camp earlier than Yennefer had been expecting, but as her companion had stated earlier, the daylight hours were fleeting. While Coral gathered firewood, Yennefer laid traps around the camp. Because of the cold nights, they couldn’t afford to sleep only in their sleeping bags and they were more vulnerable in the tents they had packed. 

As they sat around the fire, having melted some snow for water and mixed into their rations, Yennefer sighed deeply. She was dreading every second, waiting for when Coral would start asking her things. Or telling her things. It carried the same kind of dread. 

And sure enough, Coral put her empty bowl away and said: “So, why’d you do it?” 

“Do what?” Yennefer grumbled. 

“Why did you flee?” 

Yennefer very nearly jumped up when she heard those words, exclaiming: “She told you?!” 

“She wrote.” Coral nodded and pursed her lips, thinking deeply. “She wrote me that she was recovering in Temeria from a serious injury, and she said…  _ ‘Perhaps you can tell me, Astrid, if the witcher trials change some witchers and leave some the same. I know that you never did change. But why her? Please, help me understand, why her?’ _ ” 

When Yennefer wanted to open her mouth, Coral held up her hand. 

“You know, I never thought  _ you _ to be like this. When I heard about that other fool, abandoning his child of surprise, I wasn’t so shocked, but this…” 

“Other fool?”    
  
“Sir White Wolf,” Coral mumbled, her voice tighter than before. “Geralt.” 

The surprises would not stop that night. Once more, Yennefer had trouble not jumping to her feet just to get the higher ground on Coral. “Geralt has a child of surprise? He - he never told me! Why would he-” 

Coral shrugged, stretching her legs out alongside the fire, so that a few stray embers dotted the dark, thick leather of her boots. “Ask him, not me.” 

“What do you have against Geralt anyways?” Yennefer inquired as she put her own bowl down beside her and leaned back against one of the logs they had dragged over to form a large triangle around the fire. 

A long, deep sigh exited Coral’s lungs in a cloud of mist, spiralling upwards into the cold air of the night. “Some people are made for each other, Wolfie. Some are not,” she said. 

Leaning forward, Yennefer felt her mouth open a few seconds before she could form words. “You… and  _ Geralt _ ?” 

“Yes, me and Geralt.” Coral’s voice was darker than the other witcher had ever heard it be. She frowned deeply, clearly remembering some unpleasant things for a few moments. Digging into the ground next to the fireplace with her fingers, she fished out a stick that she threw into the flames. Her frustrated force was so great that sparks flew out of the fire and bounced off on the soil around it. “Ask him for details, don’t change the subject,” she muttered. “You broke Tissaia’s heart. You saved her, then you fled because … why? Could your sorry ass not handle it? Was once not enough for the poor woman?” 

Despite the cheer that Coral had displayed earlier that day, it was clear this was a deeply rooted feeling of hers. From the way her jaw was set and her brow was still pulled into a deep frown, Yennefer could see that she honestly wanted to know what she had asked. It wasn’t purely anger, it was also just a question of a concerned friend of the sorceress. 

Yet she didn’t completely understand what Coral had asked her. “What do you mean if once wasn’t enough?” 

Her mind started to race before she got the answer. Was there another lover in the picture? Had Tissaia experienced heartbreak before? Was there something else that the woman had never told her? 

“You really don’t know her that well, do you?” Coral’s eyes softened remarkably as she inched a bit closer towards Yennefer. “Remember what Phil said before she portalled us here?” 

“She… wanted you to tell me how you met Tissaia,” Yennefer recalled, nodding. Suddenly, she was curious to know just that. She felt eager to find out more about who Tissaia was underneath her stuffy exterior and took a deep breath when Coral cast a look to the night sky, taking a deep breath in preparation. 

“I didn’t meet…  _ Tissaia _ , at first,” she said, sounding very thoughtful, as if she was ruminating about a memory that was very dear to her. “I met two apprentices from Aretuza. Here, in Skellige, at the annual meeting of sorcerer and witcher trainees.” 

Scoffing lightly, Yennefer thought back to her own experiences at that particular annual event. Sabrina and Fringilla were the only faces that she clearly remembered, and she had mostly found the event very boring and Fringilla very irritating. 

“One had vibrant brown hair, mischief in her eyes, messy clothing with muddy edges and frayed ends of her sleeves. She had owl feathers in her hair and her Rectoress always looked very disapprovingly at her, with her mouth pursed like a dried sour plum. Philippa,” Coral said, her smile spreading wider over her face. “The other… Gods. Barely came up to my shoulder. Pale like spoiled milk, hair like sun-bleached straw. Constantly shivering and looking like she was about to faint. The only interesting thing about her were her eyes, intelligent and sharp. They always have been.  _ That _ was how I met Tissaia.” 

Yennefer felt herself frowning at Coral’s description of the woman her heart ached for. Not only because Tissaia had apparently been blonde, but also because the words exuded a weakness that she had only once seen in the sorceress. When she had been stricken with fever and illness. “Tissaia was…-” 

“Not an impressive girl, no. But you mustn’t blame her. She was born in a wealthy merchant family, hailing from Cidaris. If her inner chaos hadn’t aided her, she wouldn’t have lived past her childhood. You see, she was born with a faulty heart. Barely felt the sun on her skin until her conduit moment, sheltered by her parents in their mansion. Scared little thing, she was.” 

“She never told me this…” Yennefer quietly said. A cold feeling spread through her own chest as she realized just  _ why _ Tissaia had been clutching at her heart during her delirium. 

Coral propped one of her legs up, leaning it against the log next to her. “Let me tell you the whole story,” she said. “Maybe then you’ll understand her a bit better.”

_ (Art by Greypaws!)  _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you're wondering where our witcher OC Forbes comes from: we wanted another witcher of the bear school to feature in this chapter. Unfortunately, most of them are dead or with whereabouts unknown at the time this fic is set. So we invented our own, based on the character credited as the "grim giantess" in the tv show Vikings, from the episode "the burial of the dead" from season 1. 
> 
> Coral and Geralt were a thing in the books! And we felt like we somehow had to address it slightly in this fic.


	17. Chapter 17

[Greypaws](https://soundcloud.com/user-100350749) · [SW Chapter 17](https://soundcloud.com/user-100350749/sw-chapter-17)

_(Narration by Greypaws!)_

* * *

It was already dark when the apprentices of Aretuza arrived through their portals. Not because the time difference between Thanedd and Skellige was so great, but because the isles had notoriously fewer hours of daylight. 

Tissaia shivered, drawing her cloak more closely around herself, sniffling. The cold was already upsetting her sinuses, and she knew she had to get inside quickly, before it would start to strain the spells that regulated her heart. 

Staying close to Rectoress de Winter’s side, she huddled into the hut. There were rough-cut wooden benches placed in an oval around a trio of braziers. Luckily, it was comfortably warm in the hut. Still, Tissaia didn’t undo her cloak. She only pulled the hood down and cautiously peeked at the figures on the other side of the hut. 

The trainees of the bear school had a few things in common amongst their number. Most were tall, muscled and seemed mostly uninterested in the sorceresses who had just entered. The male trainees from Ban Ard followed shortly after them, then the door shut. 

The hut wasn’t bathed in silence for long. Soon, all manner of whispering began. Tissaia’s eyes flitted through the room, trying to discern who said what. One whispering voice was louder than all others. It originated from a particularly rectangular witcher trainee, who peered straight at the young sorceress with curious green eyes. She couldn’t be much older than Tissaia herself. 

This broad-shouldered girl turned half around to a lad who sat behind her. Tissaia could now see how her hair wasn’t just reflecting the light of the fire. No, it was a bright red colour of its own. 

“Junod,” the girl whispered to her fellow trainee. “See the little one at the front? Bet I can lift two of her at once.” She snorted, followed by a quiet laugh from Junod. 

A muted chuckle sounded from behind Tissaia as well. Philippa Eilhart, who Tissaia considered to be a friend of sorts and a relatively good roommate, tried to hide her grin behind her hand. “I think she could,” she quietly said. 

Just as Tissaia was about to hiss to her to keep silent, a voice thundered through the space. 

_ “Silence!”  _

Tissaia jolted where she sat, eliciting another laugh from Philippa. It was echoed by the red-haired girl, whose green eyes met Philippa’s brown ones with a twinkling look that promised nothing good. 

“We were just having fun, Forbes,” she said. Now that she spoke up, Tissaia could finally hear her voice. There was a singsong lilt in her accent that gave away the fact that she hailed from Skellige itself. Otherwise, her voice was deep and rich, with a hint of everlasting smugness embedded in it. 

“Sorting first, fun later,” the owner of the bellow from earlier said. 

Tissaia almost sprung again. In one of the corners of the hut stood a woman who she was certain was at least half a giant. Her yellow eyes shone in the dark and seemed to penetrate even the behaviour of the red-haired nuisance. The part of her figure that wasn’t hidden by her loose robe was built like a barrel. 

“If the sorting goes right, you can have fun later. If not, you’ll get stuck with a bad team, Coral,” a man chimed in. He stepped into the circle of benches and lifted a bushy eyebrow at the younger witcher, who rolled her eyes. 

This man was the head of the bear school. Tissaia knew that his name was Arnaghad. She momentarily shivered, as she’d heard a number of unsavoury stories about him. None of his trainees seemed to care about that, however. They all stared at him with big eyes full of admiration. 

“Do you have everything?” he asked De Winter. 

Humming an affirmation, the Rectoress held up a scroll with all the names of the apprentices from Aretuza and Ban Ard, plus all of the witcher trainees in attendance. She threw it into one of the braziers, her dark blue robe fluttering with the movement. From the cinders, names started rising anew, collecting on a fresh piece of parchment that she held up. 

As she began reading the combination of the teams, Tissaia felt herself almost doze off. The fire made the room exceptionally warm and comfortable, and the travelling to Skellige had exhausted her. She had almost started to lean against the wall when she heard her own name. 

“Philippa Eilhart, Tissaia de Vries. Both of Aretuza. You are sorted with Astrid… Astrid Lytta-” 

“That’s me, don’t bother with the rest.” 

Interrupting the Rectoress was something that Tissaia would absolutely never do. She was so shocked by it that she almost did not realize just who she was sorted into a team with until someone stood up at the other side of the fire. Almost leisurely, the very girl who had been whispering about her, and had been reprimanded for it, sauntered over. She wore a big, lopsided grin as she plopped herself down on the bench next to Tissaia. Philippa took her place on the tall girl’s left side, smiling like a maniac. 

“Look at me,” she softly said as De Winter continued to read names from her scroll. “I got sorted with the brains and the brawn.”

“The brawn is called Coral,” the young witcher said. “Better than my Skelligan name that no one can say. What about you two? The sorceress and the… smaller sorceress.”

“The brawn can remain silent!” Rectoress De Winter snapped as she stared at the trio over the edge of her scroll. “This is a serious matter. The safety of the Continent depends on the strength of our combined forces to protect it. Now, unless you would like to end up grazing as a goat for the rest of your life, I would suggest you recall what your own mentor had said. Sorting first, fun later. Though I do not know how many of you will consider these tests very fun.”

Tissaia felt a cold chill travel up her spine. Her posture stiffened so much that she felt as if she was the handle of a broom. She wanted nothing more than to snap at the arrogant witcher-in-training herself, but she knew better than to do that at the moment. Aside from that, the witcher was large and intimidating, and now that she had been teamed up with her, she felt it unwise to cause friction within their group. That would only cause unrest and diminish their chances of completing their assigned tasks. Whatever those were supposed to be.

As the Rectoress of Aretuza continued to ramble off names and groups, Philippa wedged her elbow into Coral’s side and jabbed her hard, yet discreetly with it. Tissaia felt her blood boil but made no move to do anything aside from try to pretend that this wasn’t the team destiny had aligned her with.

The Rectoress scanned over the entirety of the group before extending her hand with the scroll over the brazier and releasing it into the fire. An explosion of blue flames and sparks filled the hut, causing all but the elders to flinch.

“Now, your fates are intertwined and your tasks have been decided. Before the sun rises tomorrow, you are to report to the elder’s hut. Each group will receive an item from Forbes, which will offer you a riddle which you must solve. Then, you must travel to the elven ruins near the Elverum Lighthouse. Expedience is the key as the first team to arrive at the hut gets the easiest riddle to solve.

Without any further elaboration, Rectoress De Winter turned sharply on her heel and left. Forbes and Arnaghad remained, though they didn’t appear to have any insight or encouragement to offer.

Coral huffed. “Sounds easy. Get something to solve a riddle, then go to the ruins and kill the monster.”

“No one said anything about a monster!” Tissaia replied sharply.

“Do you think they would put us all through this without a monster to fight at the end?” The red haired woman sneered as she looked into her eyes. “There is always a monster. Else why would you need the brawn?”

“Just ignore her Tissaia, she’s just a dumb witcher. Let’s go get some rest.” Philippa stood, waiting for Tissaia to join her.

Coral replied, her accented words rolling off her tongue. “I’m not a witcher just yet.”

Tissaia tried her best to ignore the fact that she had been paired with a sorceress who was admittedly talented, but very undisciplined. And a very brash and arrogant rectangle who couldn’t keep her mouth shut for the life of her.

As the hut emptied, she noticed that Coral and Philippa were constantly whispering to each other. Of course the two would get along well, they seemed to have the same pension for mischief and tendency to be a nuisance. 

Following the witcher trainee to one of the smaller huts surrounding the bear school outpost, Tissaia shivered in the cold night. She rubbed under her left collarbone, discreetly, but firmly enough to assure herself of the fact that her heart was still beating as it should. 

There were three low beds inside the dark hut. Coral removed her armour and a large backpack from one of them saying: “Better get some sleep, sorceresses. First light is in five hours.” 

As she slipped under the scratchy blanket she had been provided with, Tissaia felt the spells which regulated her heartbeat slipping. There was a flutter in her chest and she curled on her side as she clutched at it. She shouldn’t be able to feel her own heartbeat as it trembled inside of her.

“You alright, Tiss?” Philippa asked.

She wasn’t, she knew this. 

“I’m anxious about tomorrow. I want to get to the ruins first, but I also want to get sleep. The portals are… taxing, for me.” With a soft sigh, Tissaia turned on her side, left shoulder towards the ceiling, one arm underneath her pillow. 

For what seemed like at least an hour, she heard Coral and Philippa whispering indistinctly. There was giggling and at some point, Philippa threw something at the young witcher. Finally, after they seemed to have exhausted themselves, the hut fell silent. 

~~~

There had been no opportunity to wash with warm water, and Tissaia felt gross. She squirmed a little as she struggled to keep up with Coral’s brisk pace. The rosy light of dawn had just crested the horizon, and the light in between the buildings of the outpost originated more from the torches and braziers than from the sun. 

“Wait!” Coral suddenly held still and turned to the two sorceresses. “Before we go in, I must purify you. This is the elder’s hut and-” 

“It’s the same hut we went in yesterday,” Philippa mumbled. 

“It’s not, I swear it’s not. Now hold still.” Bringing a hand up to Philippa’s forehead, Coral began to recite something in the language of Skellige. Since it was closely related to the elven language, Tissaia caught a few familiar words. 

Her mouth fell open in shock. “You’re just - you’re insulting us!  _ ‘You stink of magic that makes your bodies weak like a … pile of moldy horse… droppings.’  _ Don’t listen to her, Philippa.” 

As Philippa batted Coral’s hands away and the witcher trainee broke out into a laugh, Tissaia huffed and turned to the entrance of the hut. The interior wasn’t any more cheerful in the early morning than it had been at night. The braziers were still burning softly and the grim giantess, whose name she had briefly forgotten, sat in a chair near them. 

“Give up that easy riddle, Forbes,” Coral said as she pushed Philippa aside to enter the hut, still wearing a big, crooked smile. 

The elder witcher narrowed her eyes. “You are too late to get that, red bearling. Ivo was here before you, two lads of Ban Ard in tow,” she said, holding out a small scroll of parchment. 

While Tissaia cautiously stepped forward to accept their task, Coral cursed and kicked one of the benches. She marched back outside and demanded to know what the scroll said. “Lighthouse is that way,” she said, pointing off into the distance. 

_ “Three sisters mourned three months, for their father had sailed and returned not. Such was their grief, their tears became their crowns. And with these crowns, they guard the darkness at their feet. Beware, quest seekers, be not blind to what lies within,”  _ Tissaia read, taking care not to stumble as she walked. 

“ _ Mhmm _ , there’s a rock face called The Three Sisters. It’s where the lighthouse is built on, so it makes sense to go there,” Coral mused. “The dumb legend about how the rocks came to be is also… a thing. I don’t get the rest though.” 

_ “Ah _ , but that’s why we have Tissaia,” Philippa chimed in. “She’s good at this kind of stuff.” 

It didn’t please Tissaia at all, to be named the riddle solver of the team. She wanted to say that they were supposed to do this  _ together _ , but refrained. She had to spare her energy for the hike. Coral and Philippa walked faster than she, and the terrain was very uneven. 

There was nothing significant at the lighthouse. The beacon was lit and there were ships with multicoloured sails out on the sea. Staring at them wouldn’t do the team any good, Tissaia knew, but it seemed to be all that Coral and Philippa were doing. 

“Just what are you two hoping to accomplish with looking at the sea?” Tissaia asked them. She was starting to get antsy, and they were only a few hours into their first task. 

“We’re thinking,” Philippa replied in a mock serious voice, despite the fact that Tissaia could read from her eyes that her head was mostly empty. 

With a muted sigh of frustration, she turned to Coral instead. “Think harder then, Philippa,” she hissed. “Coral, tell me more about the story of the sisters.” 

“There’s not a whole lot to it. It’s like… a cautionary tale told to children so they don’t sail in bad weather. The father of the sisters did that and drowned. They stood on the beach for months until they turned to stone. And that’s sort of it. I heard it a lot, when I still lived in the village, here in Skellige. Before I began training.” Coral narrowed her eyes at the horizon, where the fishing boats were dutifully at work. 

Tissaia had heard several of these tales before. Cidaris was a merchant’s harbour, after all, and storybooks were one of the many occasions she could safely spend her time without straining her heart. Unfortunately, the library of the De Vries’ mansion was only so big and reading eventually became boring too. At least that was something which could not be said of her current task. “Let’s try to see things from their perspective,” she suggested. “Is there a path down to the beach?” 

There was a path. A rocky goat path with jutting, sharp stones and loose earth that gradually transitioned into small pebbles and gravel. It made Tissaia anxious, so she could only take tiny steps at a time, afraid to slip and fall. Philippa and Coral each had a completely different and much faster method of descent. The sorceress chose to jump from stone to stone, while Coral seemed to jog downwards without fear of falling. 

Standing on the beach wasn’t any less boring or any more useful than on the cliffs above it. Tissaia stared angrily at the cliffs, as if a glare would make them confess their secret. In her mind, she went over the riddle again. Three sisters. Crown of tears. Guarding something at their feet. She looked at the bottom of the cliff and up again. It was all just stone, slowly smoothed out by the elements, with here and there a white smear of a seabird who had made its nest in a crevice. 

The salt of the sea had started to sting in her nose, and the wind made her skin feel unpleasantly damp. At least the manor in Cidaris had been far enough from the sea so she wouldn’t taste the salt with every breath. Then Tissaia’s eyes suddenly widened and she turned to her companions. 

“Coral!” she called out, almost grabbing the witcher in training by the sleeve of her gambeson. “Coral, can you throw a rock and break off some of the stone high up on the cliff?” 

While she frowned deeply, Coral nodded, bending down and selecting a sizable pebble. With all of her force, she threw it until it hit the cliffside with a loud, sharp noise. Some stones crumbled down and Tissaia rushed in to get one. Now that she had it in her hand, she hesitated. She had to be right, or she’d make a colossal fool of herself. Swallowing in anticipation, she brought the stone up to her lips and carefully darted out her tongue over its surface. 

Philippa pulled a face, but Coral’s eyebrows rose and she stepped closer, her lopsided grin appearing again. Tissaia ran her tongue over the roof of her mouth, then spat in the sand and wiped her lips with her sleeve. It was disgusting, but she’d been correct. “This is it!” she said, feeling light in her chest at finally having done something useful for their team. “The salt. The crowns, it’s the rocks! They’re full of salt, like tears.”

Corral snatched the stone from her hand and licked it. With some difficulty, she swallowed and threw it onto the pebbled beach. “It’s true,” she admitted. “You could salt and dry fish for the winter with that.” 

“Told you this one’s a genius,” Philippa said, though Tissaia could see her smile was genuine.

“Maybe she is, but what now?” Coral asked, her eyes remained affixed to the stones.

Tissaia hummed, her brow knitted itself into a tight frown. Uncertainty wasn’t something she was familiar with, but she did look forward to a challenge. But, nothing seemed to present itself to her as she concentrated on what it was they were supposed to do next. Soon enough, the voices of her two other teammates interrupted her thoughts.

“Can’t you just smash something? Isn’t that how it works with witchers?” Philippa jested as she punched Coral in the arm, retracting her fist and favouring it as the red haired girl was clearly much more sturdy than Philippa had thought.

A deep laugh resonated from Coral’s chest. “That _ is _ how it works, but I’m not a witcher just yet. ‘Sides, that would be too easy. Maybe you should fly up there and cry on top of the stones.”

Philippa scoffed, “I can’t fly!”

“Maybe I can just throw you up there?” Coral said as she opened her arms and motioned for Philippa to come closer to her, wearing a shit-eating grin.

“Would you two be quiet! This isn’t going to be as easy as that!” Tissaia snapped at the pair of troublemakers. Once she regained her composure, she stepped closer to the base of the cliff until she stood only inches away from it. She reached her hand out and placed it against the earthen rocks of the cliffside.

Even with the deep connection she felt to magic, she could derive nothing helpful from it when she touched the porous surface of the stone. The only thing she felt was the mystery which shrouded the next part of their riddle, and an annoyance growing in the back of her skull as Coral and Philippa continued to joke about the situation, wondering whether or not the witcherling-in-training could climb the cliff with both of them on her back.

“Stop making light of this!” Tissaia shouted over her shoulder, taking a deep breath and focusing on her task at hand. If for no reason other than to calm her rapidly beating heart.

She closed her eyes and let her imagination guide her as the steady roar of waves crashing against the shore drowned out the sound of Philippa and Coral whispering and chuckling quietly amongst themselves. 

In her mind's eye, she saw a book sitting on a desk. She recognized the embossed patterns which decorated it’s cover. The elegant knots and spiraling floral designs were indicative of an ancient elven culture which had once thrived on the very soil Tissaia stood on now.

She allowed the dreamlike vision to continue as she reached for the book and opened it up. Gasping as only one word graced the page she had landed upon. Her voice was nothing more than a low whisper as she recited the ancient elven word on the page. The one which simply meant,  _ tears _ .

“ _ Caoin… _ ” Tissaia said as she stepped backwards the second a rumbling sounded below her feet. Honestly, she hadn’t expected that reciting the elven word for ‘tears’ was sufficient enough to move them along in their test, yet here she was, struggling to find the purchase to stand as the ground rolled beneath her feet.

“Tissaia!” Philippa shouted as she rushed towards the other sorceress-in-training, catching her as she stumbled backwards and pulling her away from the rock face. They only narrowly avoided being crushed to death beneath an avalanche of rocks which fell as the cliff began to split open.

Tissaia’s eyes widened as cracks formed along the pillars of stone which made up the three grieving sisters. A gasp then escaped her as she watched them shatter apart and crumble down the cliffside. The smell of salt intensified and she opened a portal which led them just away from danger. Coral dragged them both through the portal before all three fell atop each other in a heap

“You did it,” Coral coughed as the dust cleared and an opening in the cliff was revealed. Narrowing her eyes at the darkness, she frowned, inhaling deeply. “There is still something in there awaiting us,” she mumbled. “Hope her brains will help then.” 

Philippa pulled a face, clearly not looking forward to entering a dingy cave with Coral’s swords and her own developing magic as weapons. “No, no, no. That’s where you do your part, witcherling,” she said, " _ Uh _ … tall witcherling. _ Hmm _ , not really a witcherling, then,  _ huh _ ?" 

She was trying to stall, quite obviously so, and it started to irritate Tissaia. “Let’s just get in,” she said while cautiously, inching forward, though she deliberately stayed behind the tall girl. 

Only a few steps into the cave, Coral suddenly raised her arm. Both sorceresses froze behind her, with Tissaia’s breath halting in her chest. There was a sound within the cave. A scrabbling along the walls of stone that made the hair on her arms stand on end. Unfortunately, the cave was pitch black and none of the trio could see anything. 

Coral slowly drew her silver sword, the sound of metal sliding against leather seemingly even louder than the scratching from earlier. “You smell that?” she whispered, not looking back. Rather, she took a cautious step forward into the darkness, brandishing her blade. 

“Yes, I smell rotting meat,” Philippa hissed. “What the fuck is it, Coral?” 

“Quiet,” Coral mumbled. “I just have to find it. Stop shuffling, Tissaia.” 

As Tissaia tried to calm her shaking legs, Coral brought her sword up to eyebrow height. She rotated the blade so it was perfectly horizontal and breathed out deeply. In the few seconds of near absolute silence, the only sound Tissaia heard was the beating of her own heart. Then something pushed itself off the wall to Coral’s left, a shadow in the cave. 

The young witcher slashed downwards in a fluent movement, severing the thing that had jumped at her in half. An arc of dark blood splattered onto the cave wall and Tissaia jumped backwards as half of the creature came to a standstill at her feet. With its death, she felt a ripple of magic within the cave. Along the walls, torches were lit. They illuminated the cave, along with the monster. 

With a yelp, Tissaia stumbled further back, bumping into Philippa. “What… what  _ is _ that, Coral?” 

“A nekker. I knew it when I smelled that stench. They’re corpse eaters. Burrow underground and leap at you. But I knew it was just one, can’t bury in this rock, after all.” Grabbing a rag from her belt, Coral began cleaning her sword. “Hey, look, it did something.” 

Gazing once more at the creature in horror, Tissaia shuddered. Its pale skin, grotesquely large head and vaguely humanoid body were unnerving enough, but the dull red eyes made her recoil. Then she looked up at where Coral had gestured to with her bloody rag. 

There, a softly glowing word shone in blue on the wall, just above a niche that had opened.  _ Caoin _ , tears, again. Ignoring Philippa’s mumbled “I never want to see that word anywhere ever again”, Tissaia stepped towards it and grabbed a small scroll out of the niche. 

“Fyresdal, take a Bear’s Claw,” she said. “That’s all it reads.” 

“That’s a place with a harbour.” Coral had started to walk towards the cave entrance. She kicked the nekker head aside and sheathed her sword. “Bear’s Claw… it’s a slender kind of ship that my school uses to get around the isles quickly. I’m going to guess that whoever waits for us there will know where to take us.” 

Once on the beach, she gestured northwest. “It’s that way, but we won’t get there before dusk. Do you two want to camp on the beach or in the heather above it?” 

“Heather,” Philippa quickly said. “Less sand getting into creases where I don’t want it.”

They ascended the cliff again, with the path seeming to be more narrow and slippery than Tissaia remembered. She was starting to get tired, felt shivers creeping up her arms and spine and despite her best attempts to keep up, she was starting to lag behind. 

When they held still, the sun had already started inching towards the horizon. Coral led them to a small grove of firs that were bent by the wind. “We’ll be protected against the wind here. It can get nasty at night,” she said, putting her backpack down onto the ground and stretching. “If you two would help me with the tent, we can be inside in a few minutes.”

“I’m afraid I won’t be of much help there,” Tissaia sheepishly admitted. 

Coral’s green eyes opened in shock as she paused in unpacking the tent from her pack. “You’ve never set up a tent before?” 

“I’ve… lived in a mansion all my life. I know nothing of it.” 

She saw that both Coral and Philippa barely held in a laugh. It stung, though she knew they didn’t mean it maliciously. Still, earlier on that day, she had felt like she was finally worth something. Her mind was her best asset, her sharpest tool. Not Coral’s physical prowess or whatever types of hidden strengths Philippa had, that hadn’t been revealed yet. 

“Well, go gather some wood for a fire, then,” Coral said, smiling a bit apologetically. “Try to pull out some heather, it keeps burning for a long time. Then some resin from the firs to start it. Here, you can have my knife to carve into them. Scoop some up with the blade.” 

Accepting the knife from Coral’s hand, Tissaia felt a tiny smile creeping onto her face again. Perhaps she could find her place within this group. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Three young idiots being idiots


	18. Chapter 18

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More of the three young idiots being idiots!

[Greypaws](https://soundcloud.com/user-100350749) · [Still Waters Chapter 18](https://soundcloud.com/user-100350749/still-waters-chapter-18)

_(Narration by Greypaws!)_

* * *

The firs were weathered, grown crooked and tough because of the wind and the cold of Skelligan winters. As sturdy as Coral’s dagger was, Tissaia had trouble carving deeply enough into the roughened bark to draw out the resin they needed as a firestarter. The longer she spent hacking away at it, the more she thought that the problem was not the hardy tree, but her own lack of strength. 

In the manor, the heaviest thing she had needed to lift was likely a book. Her parents had never let her do anything physically intense, always afraid that her heart would give up. Even with all the spells that the Rectoress had put into place to ensure she would survive at Aretuza, Tissaia always felt the old fear. But this was not the De Vries manor, she told herself. She was above the eternal nagging thoughts about her heart, she was stronger now. 

Giving up on the resin for now, she walked past where Coral and Philippa were setting up the tent. To no one’s surprise, they were giggling and both subtly trying to knock the other over. Rolling her eyes, Tissaia knelt down by a bush of heather and began trying to pull it out of the ground. Its purple flowers had long dried and rustled against her when she grabbed the stem with both hands. The bush did not give. Tissaia stood up and yanked again, almost slipping and falling backwards because of the loose, sandy ground. 

Letting go, she panted, resting a hand on her chest and feeling her heart thunder underneath her clothing. She had already done so much today. So many more physically exhausting things than usual. But now that Tissaia had gotten a taste of how it felt to contribute to a team and be worth something to her teammates, she wanted more. She wanted  _ everything  _ this journey had to offer. Currently, that was pulling a tough heather bush out of the ground. 

Bracing herself once again, Tissaia grunted quietly from the efforts she put into her task. The muscles of her arms strained and her heels dug into the ground. She felt a root snap and redoubled her efforts to get the rest to come loose too. 

Then, she felt her hands suddenly let go. Without being able to control it, Tissaia stumbled backwards, though it was as if there was no ground beneath her feet. A cold feeling slid up into her chest and she felt a brief flash of panic before her knees went limp and she fell sideways onto the heather. 

Pain shot through her arms and neck, followed by a tight, cramping sensation. Her anxiety spread as she felt the spells which protected her heart beginning to unravel. She drew her hand to her chest, feeling it’s uneven rhythm in her ears as her fingers curled into a fist, frustrated that she was unable to reset the spells. The coldness in her chest shifted into a crushing feeling and Tissaia felt the world around her start to collapse. She felt nauseous as her heart continued to flutter, and she could hold back a cry no longer.

“Oh, the small sorceress in training must have tripped over her own two feet.” Coral said as she looked to the area where Tissaia had been attempting to gather resin. “Clumsy.”

Philippa giggled into Coral’s shoulder, pulling away just enough to call out to the smaller woman. “Tissaia, are you alright?” Her inquiry was met with no response and she wedged her elbow into Coral’s side.

“She just fell, let her have her embarrassing moment in peace,” Coral heaved against the pressure to her ribs. Philippa possessed more strength than she thought possible from someone of her stature.

“Tiss?” Phil repeated as she strained her neck, gasping as she saw Tissaia’s small outline clutching at her chest with a frightful look in her eyes. She jolted from her seat and rushed towards her friend, taking a clammy hand into her own as she repeated her name several times.

“What… is wrong with her?” Coral asked as she jogged over.

“I - I don’t know!” Philippa stammered as she brushed a few strands of blonde hair from Tissaia’s eyes.

Tissaia’s chest felt as if a stone had come to rest upon it. She could only just make out the muffled voices of her two companions as they bickered over what her issues were. She felt the dirt between her fingernails as she scrambled in an attempt to turn herself on her side in order to ease the pressure.

“Have you ever seen her do this before?” Coral said as she scanned over Tissaia’s form. Her skin was becoming pale and a sheen of sweat glistened across her forehead.

Philippa thought hard, combing through the memories she had at Aretuza. Tissaia had been such a private person and Philippa felt a shock of guilt as she realized how little she actually knew about her. Perhaps if she had spent less time fussing over her hair in the mirror, and more time getting to know the other student, she might know what to do.

“Think, Phil!” Coral shouted, snapping her out of her daze.

Her brow knitted itself into a tight frown as she fished a memory of Tissaia, near when she had first arrived in Aretuza, from the depths of her mind. They had strained themselves that day too, during their lessons. Though it had been more of a mental strain than anything else, manipulating the threads of chaos around them to bend and control the water which had been placed in a small bowl in front of them. Philippa recalled how Tissaia, try as she might, could not seem to move the water. Not until the very end of the lesson, and all she managed to do was to splash the water everywhere, soaking half of the students in the room and the Rectoress herself.

Philippa recollected the look of shock on Tissaia’s face as she fled the room. She had thought about chasing after her, but decided against it, for she was hungry and the mess hall was serving roasted chicken with potatoes and vegetables, so she had left Tissaia to her little tantrum.

Her eyes widened as she recalled what she had seen when she stumbled back into their shared dorm room. Rectoress de Winter was huddled over the small woman, her gaze just as sharp as the tone in her voice when she demanded that Philippa leave.

“Her side!” Philippa exclaimed. “Help me roll her to her left side. I remember seeing her like that with the Rectoress before. Maybe that will give us a few moments to think.”

Coral quickly did as Philippa had suggested, taking note of how cold the other woman was as she did so. Once she was situated, they noticed Tissaia’s breathing started to regulate itself and her eyes shut as she curled into the fetal position and began to relax just a bit.

“What do we do now?” Coral asked.

“We need to get her to the Rectoress. The last time I saw her like this, she was casting some spells I had never heard before, on Tissaia. I think they were protective spells, but I was kicked out of the room before I was able to figure anything out.”

“Can you open a portal back to the Elder’s camp? We can have the Rectoress look at her.”

Philippa shifted closer to Tissaia, resting on her own knees as she bit her lip nervously. “I can’t really, my portals are unstable. I have been trying to work on them, to smooth out the spellwork, but I haven’t been able to master it yet.”

Coral scoffed loudly. “What kind of sorceress can’t open a portal?”

“I’m not a sorceress yet! Aside from that, there are plenty of other ways a mage can get around, it doesn’t have to be a portal.” Philippa bit back defensively.

“Oh? Then are you able to use those?”

“Not yet… I… was only able to do it once so far, during my conduit moment. I shifted into an owl and flew away from my mother for good.” Philippa’s expression grew both sad and dark.

“Well then that won’t help us now, will it?” Coral said in a mocking tone.

Tissaia fought against the sensations in her chest which kept her on the ground, curling into herself, to no avail. She had never been strong, especially not against this. She gathered her strength, enough to utter a single world, which rolled off her lips as nothing more than a faint, yet authoritative squeak. “Silence… “

Coral sighed as she hooked one arm below Tissaia’s knees while the other one came up around her back. In one fluid motion, she stood to her full height, the lifeless apprentice cradled in her arms. “Then it looks as if we must use the witcher talent of pure brute force. Again…” the Skellige woman boasted as she began to walk in the direction of the outpost.

A nightly hike was not high on Philippa’s list of favourite things. In fact, stumbling over heather bushes while trying to keep up with Coral was one of the most unnerving things she had ever done. “Wait,” she said. “Coral, wait. I can cast a spell for our eyes. I need it, can’t see shit like this.” 

Tapping on the side of her head, she mumbled a few words in Elder. Her eyes lit up in a soft blue colour as her vision sharpened and brightened. She enchanted Coral’s eyes in the same way while casting a look at Tissaia. Her eyes were squeezed shut as she rolled her head to the side, pressing her cheek into Coral’s armour. 

They walked on. The last rays of sunlight had vanished by the time they reached the Three Sisters again, but Coral did not hold still for even a moment. She turned sharply to the right, searching for the path they had taken previously. 

“Hey, doesn’t this one cross a river?” Philippa asked, because she remembered hopping from stone to stone, trying not to fall into the freezing water. 

“There’s a bridge further upstream, by the outpost. We’re not supposed to take it, but if we turn up like this, I’m sure even Forbes will let us pass.” Adjusting Tissaia a bit, Coral frowned as the smaller girl let go of a sharp whine. She was in pain, and Coral’s heart felt heavy in her chest. Perhaps she had put too much pressure on the little sorceress. 

Philippa feared that they would be attacked by some sort of monster before they reached the bridge, but nothing did. She thought to see dark shapes move at the edges of her vision many times, though that was likely just her exhaustion. 

It was far into the night by the time they reached the outpost. Its torches were a welcome sight in the distance, and Philippa felt her heart leap when she saw figures standing near them. Feeling a burst of strength, she ran a few feet in front of Coral. “Help!” she shouted. “We need your help! Tissaia… Tissaia is in a bad way.” 

Instantly, the giantess bear witcher pushed herself off the wall, mumbling a few quick words to the man Philippa knew as Arnaghad. She vanished in the dark between the huts while Coral carefully knelt and propped Tissaia against her body while she took off her thick cloak. With an amount of care that Philippa didn’t expect from the young witcher, she laid Tissaia down on it, so she was not lying on the hard, cold ground. 

“She collapsed during the second quest,” Coral quietly said to her mentor. “She has a condition of sorts, I don’t know what. She didn’t tell us.” 

With a large hand, she felt at Tissaia’s clammy brow. The sorceress first winced, but then she relaxed against it, shivering all over her body. 

“Do you think… she’s, you know…” Philippa quietly said, kneeling next to Coral as she regarded her ill friend. 

“Dying?” Coral’s voice was as soft as Philippa had ever heard it be. Clearly, she had started to care for Tissaia too. “Well, her heart’s still beating, for now.” 

Arnaghad shifted, running a hand over his bushy brown beard as he looked in between the huts. “Klara will be here soon,” he said. 

The Rectoress emerged shortly afterwards, indeed. A hastily put on travelling cloak fluttered around her form as she ran the last few feet. “What happened?” she sharply demanded to know, opening the laces of Tissaia’s collar and shushing the girl as she jerked at the touch. 

“She was pulling out heather for a fire, while we were setting up the tent. We didn’t see anything happen, she was just suddenly on the ground. Then… we rolled her on her side because I’d seen you do that once,” Philippa said, feeling exhaustion overtake her now that Tissaia was in good hands. “What is going on with her? Is she sick?” 

Rectoress de Winter pursed her lips. She laid her hands just below Tissaia’s collarbones and began speaking spells. As Tissaia gasped and her breathing became less laboured, she said: “Tissaia has a very weak heart. I use these enchantments every month, but I suppose she never physically exerts herself as much as now. The chaos of our powers serves to stabilize it whenever she casts a spell. But this physical activity…” 

“I pressed her to do that,” Coral quietly said. She laid a hand on Tissaia’s leg and squeezed softly. “I’m sorry, Tissaia.” 

While she didn’t react a lot, Tissaia’s eyes fluttered open. They were unfocused, but flitted between the faces hovering over her. 

“Tissaia!” Philippa gasped, relieved to see some sort of reaction from the blonde haired girl.

The rectoress shot a sharp look at Philippa. “You mustn’t stress her any further. Not for a while, at least. The spells take time to gain power as they shape themselves to the organ which beats inside her chest. Best to let her get some rest before you set out to complete the rest of your tasks. All of you should get some rest, in fact. There are plenty of open shelters in the outpost given everyone else is in the field at the moment.”

Coral frowned as de Winter turned on her heel and started to make her way back to between the huts, from where she had originally emerged. The flames on the torches grew and bent towards her, dancing erratically as she passed them, such was her command over fire.

“Wait, how can you just leave her? What are we to do if it happens again?” The witcherling all but demanded to know.

The rectoress paused, glancing over her shoulder as the light of the torches illuminated the stern features of her face. “Tissaia must learn to be self sufficient. That not everyone will help her when she’s fallen. And she must also know that even if she  _ were  _ healthy, not everyone will love her.”

With that, the elder sorceress continued walking until her steady footsteps on the grass beneath her feet could no longer be heard, and the flames of the torches had died back down, settling to just a low and steady burn.

Only the sounds of the late night remained after that. And even those sounds were scarce. It remained to be just the flickering sound of the fire on the torches, the cold breeze as it shifted the leaves of the trees and the blades of grass, and a muffled groan from Tissaia.

“We should take her into one of these huts, and let her rest.” Coral said as she slipped her arms beneath both Tissaia and her cloak, hoisting the small woman up with little effort.

Philippa folded the dangling edge of the cloak over Tissaia then looked into Coral’s green eyes, which were full of concern. She felt the encroaching hours of morning coming, somehow, she always knew when the night was coming to an end. “Yes, let’s find an empty one.”

They walked for a while until Coral spotted a hut which seemed to be in better shape than the rest. “I think this will do,’ she said as she placed a heavy boot on the wooden plank of the first step which led into it.

“No!” Philippa said in a hushed, yet urgent whisper, placing her hand on Coral’s elbow as she did so. “This one is occupied by… one burly bear witcher,” she said as she took a few steps backwards, tugging Coral along with her.

“ _ Hmm _ , he must be here to hunt. Wait, how can you see that? We haven’t even entered the hut, how do you know someone is in there?”

Philippa had never been asked something like that before, and she found herself wondering how she was capable of such a feat. “I can see better at night, always have. I don’t know what it is.” She touched along her cheeks, just below her eyes. “Sometimes, I feel as if I don’t even need my eyes to see, I just… know what’s out there. I’m sure it’s a mage thing.”

“Well, that sounds strange as shit. Go on then, which hut can we take?” Coral said as she raised her eyebrows and glanced to her left, then right.

Philippa hummed as she scanned the outpost. She raised her arm and pointed at a rather unsavoury appearing hut. “That one. It…  _ uh… _ might be one of the more rickety structures here, but it’s empty and it has a very plush bedroll. Three of them, in fact.”

Coral was astounded by Philippa’s prediction as she walked into the hut and saw it to be just so. Three bedrolls scattered about, yet freshly made. Coral wondered if any of them had even been slept upon as she carefully laid Tissaia down upon one of them, exhaling a sigh of relief as the smaller woman only hummed before curling up on her left side.

Philippa took the blanket from what was sure to be her own bed for the night and covered Tissaia with it. “We are going to be so far behind in our tasks.”

Coral nodded her head. “We will be, but that doesn’t matter. I’ll carry us all to completion if I have to.”

“And you won’t have to. Unless you stand to fail at your tasks,” a booming voice said as it entered the hut.

“Forbes, why?” Coral heaved as she placed her hand upon her chest after having laid Tissaia down onto the bedroll. “Why would you startle us like that? Tissaia’s heart is weak and we can’t risk stressing her out, just like the scary rectoress woman said.”

The giantess did nothing more than look down her pointed nose at Coral and huff in her direction. She turned to the sleeping sorceress on the bedroll and kneeled down next to her. The cloth of her robes gathered at her feet. “What is her outlook?”

“Rectoress de Winter cast spells on her heart to make sure she’s strong enough to continue,” Philippa blurted out.

“Good.” Forbes stood, towering over the girl who now seemed to be resting peacefully, in spite of all the chatter surrounding her and her health.

“Yes it’s good, but…” Coral’s voice shrunk as she knew what she was about to say was inconsiderate, even if it was true. “But we are behind in our tasks now. I’m afraid I will never be allowed to continue my trials, and they will never be allowed to ascend,” Coral said as she gestured weakly to Philippa and Tissaia both.

The giantess responded, standing taller than any bear either of them had ever seen. “It does not matter when you arrive at the finish. Nor does it matter how long it takes to complete your final set of tasks. All that matters is that you finish them, and that they aren’t half-assed.”

Coral sat down on her bedroll as Forbes left the hut. Philippa kicked off her boots and then sat on the edge of the fluffy mattress. 

“I guess this means we can sleep in?” Philippa asked as she pulled the covers to her bed back.

Coral chuckled as she laid on her back, ignoring the fact that she was wearing thick padding and a heavy gambeson. “No, it means we sleep for 2 more hours and then go to finish our tasks.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> She's fiiiiine.... trust us


	19. Chapter 19

[Greypaws](https://soundcloud.com/user-100350749) · [Still Waters Chapter 19](https://soundcloud.com/user-100350749/still-waters-chapter-19)

_(Narration by Greypaws!)_

* * *

[brazenedMinstrel](https://soundcloud.com/user-768938233) · [Still Waters - Leshen Fight](https://soundcloud.com/user-768938233/still-waters-leshen-fight)

_(Soundtrack by braz!)_

* * *

“We were the very last to arrive at the finish,” Coral said. “One and a half days after the rest. But, we did the tasks well. Turned out that Tissaia’s mind, my muscle and Phil’s unconventional ways of solving problems were quite the force to be reckoned with. I think even Forbes was proud.”

Yennefer stared at her boots for a long while. Coral had been right, she didn’t know Tissaia well at all. A weight sat in her chest as she shifted somewhat uncomfortably. She wondered whether Tissaia would appreciate having her story laid bare in such a fashion. Likely not, but she would make sure to tell the woman hers in kind. 

“I… Thank you, for telling me,” she quietly said. As she cast a look at Coral, she found the other witcher’s eyes narrowed. 

“I’m not telling this so you can thank me and forget it.” 

“I wouldn’t-” 

“You have to promise me, Yennefer, to go back to Rinde and set things right with her. Tissaia can’t bear this, she’s not invincible.” Coral leaned forward a bit, searching Yennefer’s eyes with her own. Her expression slowly changed from stern to concerned, eyebrows drawing into a frown as she sighed. “I walked with her in my arms for four hours through the black of night and I’d do it again if I could prevent her from getting hurt. But I can’t. This one is on you, Yennefer.” 

Yennefer echoed her sigh and pulled her knees up, so she could lean against the log behind her comfortably. “I know,” she said. “I’ll go back. When we’ve killed the leshen, I’ll travel to Rinde and tell Tissaia - No,  _ ask _ Tissaia if she still wants me after this.” 

Apparently that was enough for Coral, because she nodded, then stretched. For Yennefer, however, it felt as if a stone rested on her chest. She recalled that, years ago in their first meeting she had scoffed at Tissaia, asking if she had “a clubbed foot, or split ends”. How different the truth was. She knew that if she would talk again, her voice would betray just how much she felt like a pile of shit for saying that. Though Coral likely knew that already. 

“I never would have guessed, the heart defect,” Yennefer mumbled. 

“She doesn’t talk about it often. It’s not really an anecdote for her, like Philippa’s comments about her appearance before her enchantment.” At those words, a crooked grin spread over Coral’s face. “She kept some of the moles on her back, you know. I love to gently kiss-” 

“Shut up, I don’t need to know that,” Yennefer cut Coral off before she could reveal any other intimate details, though inwardly she was glad that the bear school witcher had decided not to press her any further. Apparently, an assurance that she’d set things right with Tissaia was really all she had wanted. 

Chuckling, Coral broadened her grin. “Why not, wolfie? I may have a bad taste in men, but my taste in women is immaculate.” 

“With Philippa? I doubt that,” Yennefer scoffed. 

Coral looked up at the sky, where threads of greyish clouds drifted over the field of stars. She looked so dreamy for a moment that Yennefer thought she would spout some rather romantic nonsense. Instead, the taller woman turned to her with a lopsided smirk. 

“Well, I rather like the taste of Philippa.”

Yennefer rolled her eyes, recalling that this was another one of Coral’s quirks which drove her mad. She overshared in everything. “Yes, I’m sure it’s heavenly,” she said sarcastically.

“Nothing tastes as sweet as a sorceress, you would know if you would stop being… you,” Coral snickered as she waved her hand in Yennefer’s general direction. “I’ve never told you how Phil and I met.”

Yennefer groaned. She didn’t really want to hear it, but the more the bear witcher spoke about Philippa, the less she would talk about Tissaia. “No, but I have a feeling you’re going to.”

Ignoring Yennefer’s last comment, Coral leaned forward, wearing a smug grin. The one she was well known for. “She chased me all over the Continent. I had taken several contracts. I was surprised she could even keep up. Then again, travel isn’t an issue for her. Once she finally caught up to me, she approached me and asked if I would sleep with her.”

Yennefer nearly spat the water from her mouth as she took a swig from her water skin. With a look of disbelief, she questioned the fiery-haired woman. “You mean to say that Philippa chased you all over the Continent just to ask you to take her to bed?”

“Yes,” Coral replied casually. “Said she wanted to find out more about the ‘witcher endurance’ she kept hearing about. And since she remembered me from the earlier years, and just how strong I am, she looked for me specifically.”

Yennefer corked her water pouch, hoping that the story would end there and that perhaps they would get a bit of rest before heading into dangerous territory. But of course, Coral wasn’t finished… no, of course not.

“Then it just kept happening, every chance we had. One night, afterwards, she just kept clinging to me. She must have said the word ‘fuck’ a hundred times. She just wouldn’t let go. Then we decided to… search our souls a bit, try to see if we were feeling more than just lust for each other’s body,” Coral paused to laugh. She pulled a white feather with black stripes from a leather pouch, running her fingers along the vane. “Ever since then, she’s been my lady owl.”

Yennefer furrowed her brow at the sight of this woman, one of the most solid rectangles she had ever seen, being this sentimental. It was sickeningly sweet and was honestly starting to give Yennefer a headache.

She grabbed her bedroll and opened her tent, spreading it out. Before she rested atop it, she briefly stared up at the sky. She watched the stars disappearing and reappearing behind the clouds which continued to roll by. “Tissaia had blonde hair?” she asked.

Coral chuckled as she followed suit, laying out her bedroll to get a bit of rest before daylight came and they needed to set out on their adventure again. “Yes, she was blonde. The only things she had mended during her ascension were her heart and her hair colour. I’m not sure why, and I never asked. Perhaps she wanted a change, maybe she thought people would take her more seriously. I’m not entirely sure.

Imagining Tissaia with blonde hair was just about as difficult as imagining her with her hair down. The thought made her smile and she turned to her side, wondering what the sorceress was doing right now, and how she was feeling.

~~~

Yennefer leaned down, her sharp eyesight held nothing back from her, but she had to be sure she was looking at the imprint of the beast she and Coral had been tracking for the last several days. She placed her own boot inside that of the footprints they had been following, finding it to be thrice as large as her own.

“These tracks are fresh,” she said as she stood up and glanced at the bear witcher who was crouched near some brush, quite some distance between her and the tracks.

“There are wolf tracks here as well,” Coral said as she gestured to what appeared to be half of a paw print.

Yennefer sighed, “I’ve noticed that too, it appears they have been following the leshen.”

“Or us,” Coral stated plainly as she pulled a few leaves from a nearby bush and swiped over them quickly with her tongue.

“Yes, or us. And just what do you think you are doing? Licking that plant isn’t going to do us any bit of good, quit being ridiculous.”

Coral huffed at her as she rolled the leaves into a cylindrical shape and stuffed them into some mysterious pocket in her gambeson. “That is sage, Yennefer. And it’s rare to find it so deep in the forest. It will give our food flavour, in case you don’t know what it does.”

Yennefer clenched her jaw, “I know what sage is, Tissaia used it plenty of times… ” She allowed the thoughts of Tissaia and her culinary skills to dissipate, her voice trailed off into nothing more than a whisper. Now was not the time to think of such things. Not while they were hunting the Woodland Spirit, as the people of Fayrlund had come to call it.

She jumped as a high pitched _‘caw-caw’_ sounded from a nearby group of trees. A few crows flew off into the fog of the forest and Yennefer breathed out a sigh of relief. Some corvids were nothing to worry about, after all.

She looked towards the bottom of the trees and observed that vines had completely grown around the base of them, and Yennefer nearly cut them away with her sword as it appeared they were strangling the trees.

“This place isn’t right, Coral,” she mumbled. “Like nature is distorted to the will of this thing.” 

“ _ Mhmm _ , now we just have to find it.” Coral grabbed her bardiche more tightly and held it at an angle from her body with both hands. Then she let go with her right one and swung it with her full force into the base of the tree nearest to her, where the vines had crept up on. “Come on, we’re right here.” 

_(Art by Greypaws!)_

Yennefer wanted to say it likely wasn’t a good idea to taunt the leshen, but before she could get a word out of her mouth, a branch near her moved. It rotated, revealing pale bark that could just as well have been bone. Stumbling backwards, Yennefer unsheathed her sword as the leshen of Fayrlund rose to its full height. It stood near twice as tall as she, letting go of an unearthly shriek that made the blood rush in Yennefer’s ears. 

Slowly walking away from the creature, she soon found herself standing back to back with Coral. Where the woods had been silent at first, now there seemed to be rushing of leaves in every direction. From one side of the witcher duo, the leshen slowly strode forward as if it was confident in its own domain. From the other, a group of wolves came prowling out of the undergrowth. Yennefer cursed quietly, since she had forgotten about the wolves. 

“I’ll handle those. You go after the leshen, with your big axe for a big tree monster thing,” she said to Coral.

The moment she had averted her eyes, two wolves lunged at her. She quickly spun sideways, kicking hard against the rightmost animal and narrowly avoiding the gnashing teeth which snapped in the air. The other met the sharp of her sword, which cut a lethal slash into its side. Suddenly, she was jolted forward as a third wolf jumped on her back, claws and teeth digging into her armour. The remaining two lept at her again, causing Yennefer to curse loudly before casting Aard and knocking them back. 

Then she let herself fall backwards, drawing her dagger and stabbing at the wolf which was now underneath her. She felt its breath on her face and stabbed again. This time, she felt warm blood on her glove and rolled off the now dead beast. Unrelentingly, the other two attacked again. One dove under the slash of her sword and sunk its teeth into her leg. Despite the studded leather tasset she wore, she felt its incisors puncture her skin. The other ran up quickly, and Yennefer realized she was horribly stuck in her position. 

A dull thud sounded and the wolf yelped suddenly. It fell sideways, kicking its legs a few times, a short throwing axe embedded in the back of its skull. Yennefer didn’t have time to thank Coral, because the other wolf almost dragged her to the ground. She dug her fingers into one of its eye sockets, trying to pull it off her leg as she slashed at its side with her sword. After a few painful moments, she felt its jaw slacken and was able to pry its teeth out of her flesh and run it through with her blade. 

She looked at Coral, seeing how the other witcher circled the leshen, trying to get a good strike in with her heavy weapon. Vines crept up around the ankles of the stocky bear witcher, holding her firmly in place.

The woodland creature swung at the bear with its lengthy, branch-like arm. Coral raised her bardiche and deflected the incoming blow. She then pulled back with her weapon, both hands planted firmly upon it’s staff, and struck in return. A litany of Skellige curses fell from her lips as the sharp blade of her weapon became stuck in the forearm of the creature.

The monster howled against the damage, not because it could actually feel the pain, but because Coral was trying to pry her weapon’s sharp from it’s being as if it were nothing more than a tree to be felled.

“A bit of help here, Yennefer.” Coral shouted as another root shot out of the earth, and wrapped around her waist before slithering up her torso and constricting around her ribcage. The bear witcher found herself nearly immobilized as the vines around her legs continued to climb up her body until they were spiraling around her arms and trying to pull her bardiche from her grip.

Yennefer rushed towards the creature, ignoring the burning pain in her leg from the bite wound. It towered over Coral, and she was finally able to get a good look at what it was they were fighting. Though, she still didn't understand quite what it was. It seemed to be made of nothing more than thick, sharp branches held together by strips of leather and cloth with a massive deer skull as a head.

Just as Yennefer raised her silver sword to strike the creature, she heard a fluttering of wings descending upon her. She covered her head as a swarm of crows pecked at her, pulling at her hair and squawking in her ears. “Fuck!” she uttered as she swung at them instead.

Coral grunted out a few curses in Skellige then cast Igni, scorching the vines which had crept up around her arms. With a bit of room to move, she hacked at the thick roots holding her legs firmly in place until she was free. The leshen made a haunting sound, then swung at her with the backside of it’s arm.

Yennefer’s eyes widened as she watched the creature land it’s blow, effectively hurling the bear witcher several feet backwards, where she collided into a tree with a thud. The forest creature then turned to face Yennefer, raising both of it’s gnarled arms into the air, then slammed them into the ground with tremendous force. She rolled to the side as the earth beneath her shook and several sharp roots shot out of the soil with every intention of impaling her.

“Come and get me, you ugly bastard!” she shouted, trying to keep the leshen distracted while the fiery-haired woman shook her head and reached for her weapon, staggering to her feet as she slowly recovered from the blow. She was clearly dazed. 

A chill ran down her spine as the creature turned to face her, the hollow and empty eyes of its deer skull seemed to be scanning over her, trying to learn her secrets. She ducked and rolled to the side as it swiped at her. She struck at its legs as she danced around it, diving out of the way of the strangling roots which shot out of the ground in search of her.

The strikes she was able to land with her silver sword did little but chip away pieces of lichen covered bark. She gritted her teeth and struck again and again, rolling out of the way as it swiped at her with its long, sharp claws. “I’ll chop away at you until there is nothing left!” she shouted, knowing that this creature was the only thing standing in the way of her returning to Rinde.

Suddenly, smoke began to seep from the joints of the leshen. The smoke followed along the branch-like limbs of the creature until it was completely enveloped by the haze of the smoke, which then dispersed, leaving nothing behind.

“Where did you go?” Yennefer demanded as she spun around, gripping the handle of her silver sword tightly in one hand, and her steel sword in the other.

From the corner of her eye, she saw the smoke swirling behind her and the leshen rematerialized, swinging at her with its claws. The leshen suddenly jerked and arched its back. A haunting howl resonated from the skull which the leshen wore as its head. As it turned away from her, she saw Coral standing on the other side of it. Yennefer could clearly see the marred wood between its shoulders, where the bear witcher had just struck it. The enhancement on her blade was much more effective at penetrating the thick bark.

“Time to cut you down, tree monster.” Coral taunted the leshen. She turned to Yennefer. “If we don’t behead it, we’ll be here ‘till nightfall!” 

“I’ll get it to stand still, you do your thing,” Yennefer replied between gritted teeth as she circled the leshen. 

They both began to circle it, trying to get an opening, dodging the roots and vines it summoned. As obnoxious as Yennefer found Coral to be when she was around, so well did they fit together in this hunt. The leshen swung its claws at her, with such speed that the wolf school witcher could only cross her blades in front of her to intercept the hit. The force pushed her back a bit, though she dug her boots into the soil and grunted as she braced herself. “Coral, Igni, now!” 

Flames erupted from the creature’s back, causing it to fling its arms at Coral instead. Lifting her bardiche horizontally above her head, the red-haired bear stood her ground as both the monster’s arms impacted the length of her weapon. 

Yennefer cast Yrden, trapping the leshen in place with magic. She dropped her steel sword, grabbing the handle of her silver with two hands and thrusting it forward with all her might, aiming for the crack in its back that Coral had inflicted earlier. The sharp tip sunk in, wedging itself into the leshen’s body. 

Beyond the creature’s form, she saw Coral sidestep. Then the taller woman squared up, taking a deep breath and shouting a battle cry as she swung her bardiche with all the strength she had. Yennefer dropped to a knee, dragging the leshen off balance. Her arms were nearly pulled out of their sockets as the silver coated axe head hacked into the leshen’s neck. Its runes pulsed and Coral pulled it free, striking again just to be certain that the creature was dead. This time, she successfully decapitated the leshen, its head being tossed a few feet through the air from the force of her attack. 

Getting to her feet, Yennefer felt the adrenaline slowly ebb away. Her leg stung, and she groaned quietly as she went to retrieve her steel sword, sheathing it on her back. “Thing’s finally dead,” she mumbled, nodding towards the leshen’s body. 

“Yeah, I can see why no one had taken it on yet,” Coral answered, poking the skull with her foot before picking it up by one of the antlers. “I think I’ll take this back to the outpost.” 

“You just want to get that axe,” Yennefer said with a wry smile.

Her companion burst into a laugh, though she quickly stopped and brought an arm to her chest. “That is true, but I also promised Phil I’d meet her there. I can use my mage’s soft hands, think I’ve broken a rib or two.” With a sigh, she pointed in the direction opposite to where they had come from. “The closest harbour is that way. Rannvaig, a small fishing village. You can take a boat to the mainland there.” 

“You don’t want me to tag along?” 

Coral shrugged. “I’ll make it on my own, wolfie. Besides, if you hang around Tissaia, I’m sure we’ll run into each other soon enough again.” 

Their goodbye did not last much longer. Witchers had better things to do than to be sentimental, after all. As Yennefer headed off into one direction and Coral into the other, they both had their sorceress lover in their minds. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I (braz) made SOUNDTRACK for this chapter, it starts creepy and there's the themes of both Yen and Coral in it! Please listen :) 
> 
> Also, I will make a full theme for Coral eventually, it's in the works.


	20. Chapter 20

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yennefer is back in Rinde! 
> 
> But we are us and we're not going to give her a break!   
> :'D

[Greypaws](https://soundcloud.com/user-100350749) · [Still Waters Chapter 20](https://soundcloud.com/user-100350749/still-waters-chatper-20)

_(Narration by Greypaws! Includes more cursing!)_

* * *

Yennefer felt the cold sting from the spray of the sea against her face as she slouched over the bow of the small fishing boat she had boarded in Rannvaig, her passage back to the Continent. Though she was bitter at the fact that the Captain of the vessel, if it could even be considered that, had charged her over three times what she would have considered fair for the short ride, it was long since forgotten the moment she lost her sea legs.

Her stomach twisted and her head felt as if it were spinning. She clutched tightly at the side of the boat as it swayed and rocked, crawling over the sea wave by wave. Yennefer hadn’t spent much time at sea, and now she remembered why.

“Never seen a witcher more sea sick in my life,” the Captain bellowed as he laughed. “I thought them trials made ye’ tough! Thought your kind was damn near invincible.”

Yennefer groaned as she slid down the side of the boat and sat on the deck, having done nothing more than dry heave a few times over the side of the ship. “I’m being punished,” she grumbled as she drew her knees to her chest.

Once again, the man laughed at her expense. “Punished you say? Must not have been too terrible, all you got was a little sea sickness.”

“Oh there was more, but it’s a long story. One which I don’t… “ Yennefer felt the queasy feeling in her stomach return and quickly stood leaning back over the side of the boat as the sea seemed content to slap her in the face with cold, salty water.

“Should move to the back of the boat, not as much motion. Might help you feel better… might help lessen your punishment, anyways,” he said as he adjusted the sail.

“I doubt that,” Yennefer said as she gazed towards the horizon, thankful to see the outline of Novigrad as it appeared to be getting larger.

And it truly did feel like she was being punished. Ever since she had left Tissaia behind all everyone seemed to do was to give her shit. First it was Geralt, then that ridiculous song, then Coral and now the sea. Next it would undoubtedly be the long ride to Rinde on a horse which wasn’t hers, and an ache in her chest as she wondered if her mistake had cost her Tissaia.

She slept little and only took breaks to care for the horse and to allow it to rest. She shuddered as she passed a sign on the road, it’s faded text said nothing more than ‘Rinde’, and Yennefer knew she had crossed into its outer border. The urge to turn the horse around and ride out of the city again was nearly overwhelming, but she steeled her nerves and pushed forward.

The city smelled like home, and the further she rode in, the more relaxed she became. The more she wondered if Tissaia could forgive her, and if they could start something together. If they could be happy. She passed the establishment where they had first met, the contract for the forktail which had nearly killed her. The scent of roasted meats and spiced cider drifted from it. Her mouth watered as she recalled how the food had practically fallen off the bone. For a moment she entertained the idea of finding a stable for the horse and making the upper class patrons in the restaurant extremely uncomfortable by walking in and kicking her feet up on one of the tables while she ate. But if word of that reached Tissaia’s ears, she knew the sorceress would judge her harshly for it.

She continued to ride until she found an inn with a rather noisy tavern attached to it. The entire structure looked as if it might collapse if you looked at it wrong. It leaned to the side, the shutters on the windows were either broken, sagging or missing completely, and the roof probably leaked in more than one place. But, it had a sturdy door, one she could kick open in order to make her entrance, and she knew most of the patrons would either be too wrapped up in drinking and conversation to care that a witcher had joined, or they were a witcher themselves.

She winced as she dismounted, jarring the injury she had sustained in the fight against the leshen. While she had consumed a health potion, the wolf had left a rather deep bite in her flesh. A minor healing potion would only take her so far, to gain any further relief, she would need a healer.

“What’ll it be?” A stocky woman with a ruddy complexion said as Yennefer pulled back a stool with her foot and seated herself halfway upon it, leaning against the bar with her elbow.

Motioning to a group of people at a nearby table she asked, “what are they eating?”

“That’s the mincemeat pie,” the woman said as she filled a mug of ale and slid it to the man waiting next to her, spilling a bit of it in the process. She barked at the man to sit down and be quiet as he complained about both her attitude and the loss of beverage.

“I’ll take that, and a room. Preferably one with a bath… “ Though she didn’t want to waste more time than she had to in this tavern, she wasn’t prepared to show up at Tissaia’s doorstep and be told immediately to bathe. No, she would satisfy her appetite first, then get cleaned up and make a visit to Tissaia’s home.

The woman did nothing more than stare at her with a blank expression. “None of these rooms have baths. Best I can do is a wash basin, there is a well out back.”

Yennefer let out a long and drawn out sigh. “Punished…” she grumbled as she nodded her head in acceptance and handed her enough coin to cover the food and the room.

“Do you have apple juice?” Yennefer shouted over the bustling noise of the tavern. With a grin, she accepted a jug of the stuff, and her pie. After the terrible tavern in Temeria, this one was a relief. 

Sitting down at a free table, she got out her dagger and cut a large slice out of the pie. The food was heavenly, after the days on the road. The savoury meat combined well with the sweetness of the apple juice, and Yennefer was so caught up in her meal that she did not notice the door opening. Neither did she hear how the barmaid whispered something and pointed in her direction. 

She only noticed that something was wrong when a man approached the table where she was seated. She recognized the way he walked, though it still took her several moments to recollect where from. In those moments, he had already walked up to just beside her. Without waiting for an invitation, he sat down in the chair opposite to hers. 

“Hello, Yenne-” 

“Stop. Tell me what the hell you’re doing here. This isn’t your usual place to be.” Yennefer took another big bite of her pie and fixed the man before her with her eyes, which were equally yellow as hers. 

He ran a hand through his short, black curls, then clasped the manticore medallion around his neck with it. “Don’t be so bitter, Yennefer, we haven’t seen each other in years.” 

“I have all the reasons to be bitter, Istredd.” Her voice held nothing back of the bitterness she did in fact still carry. So much so that she felt the need to wash it down with a swig of apple juice.

“And why so?” Istredd asked as he narrowed his eyes. “Because it didn’t work between us? Because it was you who vanished, not me.”

Yennefer huffed in response. “How about because when you came to Kaer Morhen, before my transformation, you made it seem like everything would be alright after the trials. I should have known better than to trust a newly created witcher. Especially a manticore.”

“That was your decision, Yennefer. To complete the trials. You told me you wanted power and strength. That you were tired of living in a pen filled with pigs and shit, that you were tired of being weak and helpless. That’s why you were in Kaer Morhen in the first place,” he spouted at her.

“But I had my doubts, and when I brought them up you did nothing but paint the life of a witcher as some romantic adventure. That together we could travel the world, saving towns and villages from vampires and other monsters. That we would be praised, every step of the way, welcomed in every city.” Yennefer took another bite of her pie, looking around at the type of place she was more comfortable in simply because ‘her kind’ wasn’t welcome.

“Yennefer we-” Istredd started, but Yennefer once again cut him off as she pointed her fork at him.

“In reality we are nothing more than killers for hire, trading fulfilled contracts for a few coin. We are nothing like the saviors you made us out to be.” For a few moments, they remained silent. Yennefer studied the scars on his face and felt her own sting.

She wondered what Tissaia would think of it when she saw her. Would it be off putting to her? Would she remark on how badly it had healed as she hadn’t had proper treatment for it? Likely she would.

Taking a deep breath and holding his hands out to her, he continued. “Yennefer, we were young…  _ I was young _ . It doesn’t have to be the same, it could be different now. We have both grown so much. We could settle somewhere, taking contracts together only if we wanted to. We could have a farm, or I could study geology. We aren’t fated to the witcher lifestyle forever, you know.”

Yennefer could hardly contain the laugh which resonated from deep within her chest. “So that’s what this is? You think after all these years you can just walk up to me and rekindle something which didn’t exist in the first place? No thanks, I am in love with another.”

The words spilled so quickly and so naturally from her lips that she almost didn’t realize what she had said in the first place. Only when Istredd’s eyes widened in shock did she realize the magnitude of just what she had said. 

“Who?” he instantly asked. “Can he give you anything that I can’t? Who could understand you any better than a fellow witcher?” 

Yennefer sighed at his display, leaning back in her chair a little. “Who says this person isn’t a fellow witcher? Though who says they are? And who says there is no one in the world who understands me better than you?  _ Ah _ , especially that last thing I doubt very much.” 

“Let me prove it, Yen,” Istredd sighed. He had that pleading look in his eyes that Yennefer was well accustomed to. The same look that had persuaded her to go along with his plan of letting an enchanter from Aretuza correct her jaw and spine so she could follow the witcher training. “Let me duel that… person, and prove that I’m better.” 

Yennefer could already imagine that Tissaia would accept the invitation, and then take care to duel Istredd on equal footing instead of obliterating him with one spell. The thought of seeing her helpless and in pain again made something pull in her chest, so she quickly shook her head. “You’re not dueling them, you’ll get your ass kicked. Better to just stay out of this, Istredd.” 

For a brief moment, she thought he was going to let it go, stand up and leave the tavern. But she was wrong. While he did rise to his feet, his hand went to the handle of his steel sword that he carried on his back. “Then I will duel you, if you won’t have it another way,” he hissed. 

“Not in this tavern, you fool. I won’t let you make a mess here just because your sorry ass can’t take a refusal,” Yennefer growled, standing up too. She stepped around the point of the table until she stood nose to nose with him. “You want to duel me? Fine, but not here.” 

Turning to the crowd in the tavern, which had started to notice the scuffle between the two witchers, she called out: “Tomorrow at noon on the town square, I’ll duel this idiot who thinks he can just waltz in here and demand that I come with him like his loving wife. Tomorrow at noon, mark my words, I will stomp him into the dirt! Be sure to tell everyone. Tell the mayor, tell the sorceress. I’m sure he would love to have an audience.” 

~~~

Tissaia made her way through the bustling streets of the market in Rinde with ease. It was a relief to be active and self-sufficient once again. But more importantly, it was a comfort to be home. Even if she still had some lingering exhaustion from the illness, and an ache which bloomed in her chest from time to time. One would eventually fade, the other would more than likely linger for quite some time, she surmised.

“It is good to see you moving about again, Tissaia! Heard what happened, we’ve all been worried sick. How are you feeling?” An elderly herb vendor said as she worked her way around a table full of her wares and pulled Tissaia into an embrace. Though her arms appeared to be frail, Tissaia was not expecting the wind to be nearly knocked out of her. Clearly the woman was much stronger than she looked. Yes, that must be it.

“Much better, thank you for your concern.” Tissaia smiled as the woman let go and waved her into her tent.

“I’ve several health potions, just received them in my last shipment. Take them, I’m sure you’ll need them, and if you don’t perhaps the Lady Witcher could use ‘em.”

Tissaia nearly flinched. Of course the rumours of their battle with the wyvern queen and her illness had spread like wildfire, but very few people knew of what had transpired afterwards. How she laid in Triss’ cabin hoping to see a certain roughened witcher stumble through the door, leaving a trail of dirt along the floor as she wasn’t the type to leave her boots at the front door.

With a sigh, she took the vials from the woman’s hands and forced a smile onto her lips. She inclined her head as she thanked her for such a thoughtful gift. “I was hoping you would have some dried herbs for cooking. I’ve nearly run out of parsley, and could use some sage… mountain sage. Rosemary, if you have it and-”

Tissaia turned her head sharply as she heard a familiar voice calling out her name. She strained her neck to see over the crowds, frowning as she tried to place the voice over the noise. Though, once she spotted the headstock of a lute which was slung over a certain dark haired bard’s back, and a flash of white hair between the people passing by, she knew who the voice belonged to.

“Hello Geralt,” she said calmly as she turned back to the woman as she retrieved her order.

It wasn’t as if she knew the witcher personally. Rather, she knew of him and the bard which followed him around the Continent singing songs about his life as a witcher. She’d heard plenty of those over the years. Though most of her knowledge about him came straight from the mouth of Stregobor during Chapter meetings. The wizard was an even less reliable source of accurate information than the exaggerated songs. And she had heard his name uttered endlessly after the princess had been slain in Blaviken, earning him quite the reputation for himself. But of all the things she knew about the white wolf, the one which stood out the most to her was the fact that it was well known he and Yennefer were practically siblings.

“Have you seen Yennefer?” He said, trying to catch his breath.

“I have not,” she replied sharply, unappreciative of the fact that every step she seemed to take included some unwanted reminder of the Lady Witcher of Vengerberg.

Geralt frowned, briefly looking beside him as the bard had finally caught up. “I need to talk to her. She mustn't duel that idiot.” 

“She must not duel who? Where-” Tissaia paused, aware of how desperate she sounded. Taking a deep breath, she calmed herself. She had to stay in control, despite the fact that Yennefer seemed to be in her vicinity. “Where is she?” 

The witcher’s eyes widened, his hand tightening on the grip of his sword. “You didn’t know? Tomorrow, at noon on the town square, she will duel Istredd of the manticore school. The idiot challenged her, but it’s not worth it, and he’s better than he seems.” 

Tissaia frowned, pursing her mouth. She could not let her heart get ahead of her mind. The people of Rinde were sure to have spread news of the duel like wildfire, so calling it off right now could stir negative feelings in the town. No, she had to solve this a different way. “I will go to the square tomorrow,” she said to Geralt and his bard. “Calling it off now would not be the best idea. It may not reach her ears nor her opponent’s.” 

Judging by the look on Geralt’s face, Tissaia could tell that he wanted to protest. Instead he frowned and she could see the muscles in his jaw flexing as he clenched it tightly. He grunted out a response as he shifted his weight from one foot to the next. “ _ Hmm _ , perhaps you are right. I will be at the town square tomorrow as well, in case anything goes wrong. Manticores aren’t known for their social etiquette, nor are they known to play fair.”

As Geralt turned to leave, she called out to him. “Geralt? May I ask, do you know the reason for the duel?”

The witcher stopped, looking into her eyes with his yellow. “Istredd is a… nuisance from her past. Every now and then he turns up and tries to persuade her to come back to him. She’s never been interested, especially not now, and my guess is that he didn’t like to hear the word no.”

“I see.” Tissaia said as she inclined her head to him and he and the bard disappeared back into the crowds. She wondered at his words _ ‘especially not now’ _ . Her thoughts were interrupted as the vendor handed her a linen bag with the herbs she had requested.

“Anything else?” She asked Tissaia.

“Yes, celandine. Seems as if I will need to make some healing potions tonight. Oh, and I need some thyme.”

After rushing home, Tissaia immediately went to work crafting an assortment of healing potions and other concoctions she thought might be helpful should this other witcher choose to play dirty in this duel. Tomorrow she would walk to the town square instead of opening a portal, to arrive well before noon. She would save her strength in order to heal Yennefer if she had to.

“Damn you Yennefer of Vengerberg. Why must it always be like this?” she uttered under her breath as she crushed enough celandine to craft no less than five potions of Swallow.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry not sorry


	21. Chapter 21

[Greypaws](https://soundcloud.com/user-100350749) · [Still Waters Chapter 21](https://soundcloud.com/user-100350749/still-waters-chapter-21)

_(Narration by Greypaws!)_

* * *

Yennefer had been awake well before the sun first crested over the horizon. Before the early morning songbirds began filling the air with their pleasant song. She had spent most of the night brooding in the room she had rented, running her sharpening stone along the edges of her swords and daggers. A few broken hours of sleep was all that she could manage as she rolled around atop her bedroll, imagining all of the scenarios which might ensue.

This wasn’t something she wanted, nor expected, when she first set out on her journey back to Rinde. No, all she wanted was to find Tissaia and confess her feelings, hopefully without receiving a slap across the face in return. Though if she did, she wouldn’t blame Tissaia for it. She was an ass, an impulsive one at that. And now she was committed to a duel she didn’t want to have, against a person she never wanted to see again.

To refuse the duel would have been looked down upon, however. Especially a witcher initiated duel. She would never have heard the end of it had she said no. There would be songs sung about the cowardly Lady Witcher of Vengerberg, and she’d already had enough songs written about her, she certainly didn’t need another.

As she walked towards the town square, she wondered if Tissaia had heard the news. More than likely she had, as news like this usually spread through a city like wildfire. Aside from that, she had loudly demanded that everyone tell the sorceress. She knew this was something Tissaia would disapprove of, but it was too late. The wheels had already been set in motion and the duel could not be backed out of now.

There was already a large assembly of people gathering in the town square. It was unsurprising as Yennefer found most people were just as savage as the witchers they claimed to hate. Always gathering at any opportunity to watch violence as long as they didn’t have to participate in it. Though she couldn’t blame them, and she really didn’t care. All she wanted was to get this over with and find Tissaia.

The crowd parted for her as she approached. They murmured amongst themselves, some of them pointing at her, some of them gawking and others simply trying to get out of her way. Her eyes scanned across the crowd, searching for Tissaia yet finding nothing. She was almost glad she couldn’t see her, as she did not need any distractions during the duel.

“Finally decided to join, have you?” Istredd said, his tone sounded almost like a taunt.

Yennefer sighed, she was used to Istredd being more dramatic than was necessary. “I’m right on time, judging from the shadows cast, and I would prefer to get this over with so I can go about my day. I have much more important things to do.”

Istredd scoffed. “Of course you do, Yennefer. You have always put yourself first, you never think of anyone else.”

Her eyes nearly rolled to the back of her head. “That’s not true, I’m thinking about you right now, and what a fuck-face you’re being.”

She could see the way he gritted his teeth, his lips pulled back into a snarl. She chuckled to herself, knowing her insult had hit it’s intended mark; his fragile ego.

“You’ve always had a harsh tongue, that I know about you. So I will overlook that for the time being and make an offer to you once more. I will nullify the duel right here and now, in front of this audience, if you come away with me.” Istredd scowled at the crowd as a series of boos rang out from them.

Somewhere from the back of the crowd, a man shouted. His voice echoed throughout the town square and Yennefer could just make out several others who seemed to share his sentiment. “Just duel, already. We ain’t got all day!”

Slowly, she pulled her steel sword from the sheath on her back, holding it with a firm grip as she positioned herself for battle. She drew her legs into a split stance, with her stronger leg drawn back and her sword extended by her side, in her left hand. “I want nothing to do with your offer. We do this, and we do it now.”

“Very well then Yennefer, you had your chance,” he said as he drew his own blade and mirrored her stance.

It had been a while since she had even seen the thing. It’s blade was long and slender with patterns etched along it. She knew it was sharp, very sharp, in fact. It only had one cutting edge, and was drawn into a point much narrower than her own sword. Supposedly, it came from the lands south of Nilfgaard. It looked more like an extremely long, somewhat thin knife than a true sword. There was golden filigree on the steel and the handle had a manticore head as counterweight. A very unusual weapon for a witcher, and Yennefer had never pried out of him where he got it from. 

“On your signal, Yen,” Istredd said. 

“No, on yours. You initiated this bullshit.” 

Shortly after saying that, Yennefer watched her rival spring into motion. He ran the short distance between them and struck. The thin sword was longer than hers, and lighter too, thus faster. Yennefer brought hers up to catch it, then stepped forward and pressed. If there was any quick method to end the duel, it would be to throw him onto the ground and wound his legs. She was fairly certain that she had superior agility. 

Istredd sidestepped and twisted away from her locking manoeuvre. More quickly than Yennefer had anticipated, his sword slashed at her side. Spinning the grip of the sword around in her hand, she aimed the point downwards, the flat pressed vertically against her as she braced it with an arm between her body and the blade. She had effectively locked both her arms around herself now, so the only way out was a rather ungainly slash that he could easily dodge. 

“You’ve gotten faster,” she called out. A crooked grin slipped onto her lips as she near whispered, so only he could hear: “Even faster.” 

“I was never bad for you, Yennefer,” he hissed as they circled each other, looking for a window to strike. 

“Oh, you were. I just didn’t realize it.” Yennefer struck, stabbing at his chest, then rotating her blade and slashing down. She was matched blow for blow, and mirrored, matching him in turn. For minutes, they twirled around and around, only hitting steel and leather, never deep enough to tear through their armour. 

Istredd bashed into her, reaching for one of the straps that held her chestplate in place. Yanking her off balance, he threw her to the side and paused. Cupping his left hand, he brought his fingers together and Yennefer could sense the energy gravitating towards them. 

_ Fuck _ , she thought. He was about to cast something. Istredd had always been more proficient with signs than she. “Oh no, you don’t,” she grunted. 

From Tissaia, she had learnt that magic was a volatile thing. One wrong move and it could blow up in your face. Feinting to the left, she saw his concentration break. The thin blade darted out again, but this time she was better prepared and stepped out of range. It sheared a mere inch from her chin, but she had to stay close. A step to the right and she was standing off to his side. A step closer and she could strike. The tip of her blade came too close and he had to dodge. But the chaos was still bundled in his hand, and that was what Yennefer had counted on. 

It flew out of his grasp at his sudden movement, sweeping outwards in a wave, powerful enough to knock the both of them backwards. Like she had planned, Yennefer could just find her balance and remain upright, while Istredd was knocked into the cobblestones. She could afford a grin, and silently thanked Tissaia for teaching her one or two things about magic.

He grunted loudly as he rolled to his feet, shaking his head in order to rid himself of the daze his backfired spell put him in. He charged at her again, gripping his sword with both hands this time. She lifted her sword to meet his downwards strike, bringing up a second hand to grip the handle and stabilize it. Quickly, he reversed his course and swung his blade low, an attack which she intercepted as well. With a heavy boot, she kicked him in the abdomen, taking great delight in the sound he made as the air was forced from his lungs. Next, she created a bit of space between them by casting Aard and knocking him back several paces.

But he hadn’t been unprepared. Just as she cast the sign, he initiated a spell of his own and a protective shield coalesced around him. It was clear he had studied to improve his command over Quen, as Yennefer felt the blunt force of the telekinetic wave which had been meant for him, reflect back onto her. She stumbled backwards, slightly dazed by her own Aard sign. “Fuck,” she uttered under her breath as she planted her feet firmly on the ground.

The self-assured smirk which spread across his lips infuriated her all the more, and she felt her cheeks becoming hot with anger. She quelled her temper in favor of concentrating on her next move. But Istredd was too fast and he closed the gap between them with but a few long strides. He lunged at her with his blade, narrowly missing her as she rolled to the side, returning to her feet and swiping upwards at him with her blade. While he dodged the strike, he wasn’t able to get entirely away from the sharp point of her sword and Yennefer felt it drag across his cheek. It left behind a gaping wound which oozed crimson and she could just make out a bit of fatty tissue which had been exposed.

They faced each other, encircling around one another, locked in a vicious dance. Istredd wiped the blood from his cheek on his shoulder, which did nothing but smear it across his face even further.

“We could have had it all, Yennefer. You and I.” His tone remained calm, but Yennefer could hear the rage buried deep within it.

“It was never meant to be. If you were smart enough to see that, you wouldn’t have wasted so much time chasing after me over the years.”

Istredd chuckled darkly, his yellow eyes affixed to her own. “Well, there is one lesson I’ve learned over time. It’s stuck with me and never left. Must have referred to it in hundreds of different situations. I’ve you to thank for it, actually. They were  _ your  _ words, after all.”

“Oh, and what lesson might that be? Because it’s been so long ago that I’ve nearly forgotten everything between us,” Yennefer returned, gripping her sword tightly as her other hand hovered just inches away from the bone handle of her dagger.

“Nobody smart plays fair,” he said as he reached for something in a weathered leather pouch on the side of his hip. Before she could make sense of anything, he drew his fist back, an object clenched tightly in his hand. He cast Igni in that same hand, igniting the object which he then hurled just over her head.

Yennefer felt every one of her witcher senses flare to life as the cylindrical object seemed to drift through the air in slow motion. End over end it spun, the flames around it’s metallic casing eventually dissipated as it traveled through the air. All but a wick, which Yennefer could see was burning brightly.

An explosive. And not even thrown at her, but above her. It’s current trajectory set it to land somewhere in a crowd full of spectators if she didn’t stop it. She crouched and then sprung into the air with all of the speed and agility of a wolf, catching the bomb in her hand then drawing her arm back the moment her boots hit the ground, launching it into the air as if she were a catapult.

Just as the explosion went off in the air, Yennefer felt a searing pain shoot through the center of her abdomen, just below her ribs. It continued from front to back and radiated to her arms and legs. She looked down, angrily, trying to determine it’s source. And it didn’t take her long to understand. Istredd’s armored hand was nearly flush against her gambeson, her own blood spilled over the engraved metal handle of his elegant sword, which he had run clean through her body.

Through the blinding agony, she heard several members of the crowd gasping. It seemed ironic to her that they would be so eager to watch them fight and yet so apprehensive about watching one of them die. But that was how it always was with witchers, such was their life.

Istredd jerked the sword back, unable to remove it as she gripped onto his forearms tightly, unwilling to allow him the pleasure of taking it with him when he undoubtedly decided to flee. If he was going to impale her with the thing, the least she could do was to hang onto it, in case she survived, and use it to sever his head the next time they met.

“I hope he was worth it,” he uttered to her as he began to slip from her grasp.

Yennefer wanted more than anything to get a last word in, to gloat right to his face that yes,  **_she_ ** was worth it. Much more than he ever would be. But her head began to spin and when she opened her mouth to speak, nothing more than a choked sound emerged. Blood spattered across his face as he wrested himself from her grip and turned on his heel, quickly bolting from the town square as Geralt ran to aid her.

“Yennefer!”

She could hardly hear his voice as a fog descended over her. She fell to her knees, clutching at the blade of the sword, with nary the strength left to pull it from her body. She could feel her life waning as she fell on her side, eyesight unfocused as nothing more than moving shapes surrounded her.

As the darkness around the edges of her vision overtook her, she heard a familiar voice. It wavered and tensed, then snapped at someone with urgency. While she couldn’t make out the words, she more than recognized who it was. Her lips mouthed the name just before her world fell silent.

_ Tissaia...  _

~~~

The crowd was too thick to easily find her way through. As their shouts increased and the rhythm of swords sounded faster, Tissaia felt her heart beat in her throat. She was too late to stop the duel before it had begun. Beside her, Geralt was trying to push the people aside while Jaskier nervously darted around. His brute strength had its desired effect, as the crowd started to disperse so she could walk through. 

Tissaia’s breath froze in her throat as she saw Yennefer. A winter had passed since she had last seen the witcher, and she had certainly not expected to see her back in such a ferocious battle. An object was hurled into the air by Yennefer as the other witcher ran at her with his blade ready to strike. Tissaia wanted to shout a warning or cast a spell to protect her, but everything happened much too quickly. She couldn’t get a word over her lips before the sword slid smoothly into Yennefer’s flesh, breaking through the armour on her back. 

Watching in horror, Tissaia felt tears pool in her eyes as Yennefer collapsed onto the cobblestones. She rushed forward, yet wasn’t as fast as Geralt, who called out Yennefer’s name as he unsheathed his sword. The other witcher saw him coming, however, and fled far too quickly. 

“Stay here!” she snapped at Geralt as she knelt down by Yennefer’s side. Blood trickled into the fibers of her dress, but she cared not. 

She called for her powers as they flooded into her body and placed her hands onto Yennefer’s side. The witcher gasped, but her eyes were almost closed, only a glimmer of yellow remaining. Tissaia cringed as she felt the terrible damage within. It was worse than the forktail and the djinn combined. Torn flesh as well as organs, bleeding inside and out. 

“Pull the blade out,” she said to Geralt. “Cleanly, but hurry. She may only have moments left.” 

Panic burst in her chest at her own words, but years upon years of keeping her heart under control had given her the resilience she needed to keep her hands from shaking. It was still difficult, especially when Geralt knelt down next to her and removed the blade from Yennefer’s body in one clean motion. A gush of blood followed and soaked Tissaia’s gloves as she put her hands to the wounds. 

The spell was nearly biting, angry on her tongue. It came with a shock of arcane energy that jarred her body as if she had been injured herself. A nearly excessive amount shot towards Yennefer, and Tissaia could feel the nerves in her arms and hands protesting in pain against the sheer force of her spell. But she kept her control, an iron will commanding the spell to do its job even as she tasted blood and felt it start to trickle from her nose. 

She drew in a heavy breath before she turned to Geralt once again. “Disperse the crowd. I do not want them to gawk at this.” 

Closing her eyes as she heard his heavy footsteps depart, she forced more energy in the spell, even as she started to feel sick in the stomach from the amount of magic she was channeling. She knew she was rapidly emptying her reserves and could only hope that it was enough to save Yennefer. Under her hands, she felt flesh knit itself back together and torn arteries close. Black spots swirled in her vision but she would not give up until she felt the blood flow from between her fingers slow. 

Only once a pair of hands rested on her shoulders and pulled her backwards did she notice that she was leaning over Yennefer’s body, panting harshly as she poured all her energy into her healing. 

“Whoa there, you might want to sit up, a bit? You’re looking…  _ ah _ , awfully pale,” Jaskier quietly said as he tried to steady her. 

The telltale weakness of incoming fainting was creeping up on Tissaia, but she knew she could not do so now. “I need to get her to my house,” she said, swallowing away the taste of blood. “Where is Geralt? He must carry her.” 

“He’s… I’m… I’m not sure where he is, probably still dispersing the crowds, as you had asked.” Jaskier responded hesitantly.

“Then help me lift her,” she demanded.

It was clear to Tissaia that the bard was either very intimidated by her, or still not desensitized, despite having traveled for so many years with a witcher. And perhaps neither was she, if the stabbing sensation she felt in her chest at the thought of Yennefer dying on her was anything to go by.

For the last several months, all she had tried to do was recover from her illness and try to forget about Yennefer. But none of that mattered now. All that mattered was that she had the magical strength for one last portal, and that she had the physical strength to lift Yennefer up by her legs as the soft bard hoisted her up from under her arms, in order to carry her through the magical doorway which led directly into her medical chambers.

Her portal dispersed almost violently as she crossed it’s threshold. Lifting the heavy witcher onto her treatment bed was much more difficult than either of them had anticipated, but together they had done it.

“Over there, on the table is a wash basin and some fresh linen cloth. Fetch them for me… quickly,” she barked at Jaskier as she worked to remove the heavy layers of Yennefer's armour.

Tissaia felt her head spinning as she reached for the potions she had prepared for this very event. It had always been like this. As she uncorked a bottle and tossed back it’s contents in order to boost her magical abilities, just as she had done with the djinn, she wondered if it would ever be different between them.

_ (Art by Greypaws! Full size view recommended)  _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No, we're not sorry. Don't hurt the authors. 
> 
> We promise to make it up next chapter, though! >:)


	22. Chapter 22

[Greypaws](https://soundcloud.com/user-100350749) · [Still Waters Chapter 22](https://soundcloud.com/user-100350749/still-waters-chapter-22)

_(Narration by Greypaws)_

* * *

Geralt returned a few minutes after Tissaia had laid Yennefer down onto her medical bed. He threw the thin, bloody sword onto the herb mixing table and was evidently still fuming about not having been able to catch up with Istredd before he fled the town. Tissaia vaguely heard Jaskier softly suggesting to please put the weapon that was still dripping with blood somewhere else. She was glad that she did not have to deal with two witchers simultaneously, and on her own at that. 

After healing most of the splintered bone, where the steel had damaged Yennefer’s ribs, she felt her strength diminish again. Reaching for one of the portions of Swallow that she had freshly brewed, she uncorked the vial and carefully opened Yennefer’s mouth. At the very least, the stubborn witcher was not struggling against her grasp on her chin. 

“She is… out of life-threatening danger,” Tissaia said to Geralt and Jaskier. She wasn’t able to tear her eyes away from the woman’s motionless form. As strong and vibrant as she had been during their battle with the wyvern, so weak and pale was she looking now. 

“Is there anything we can do?” Geralt asked her. For a man of his stature, the look of concern fit oddly onto his face. 

Finally, Tissaia was able to look away from Yennefer and avert her eyes to her wash basin with steaming water. She rinsed her hands of blood as she answered: “Well, you are welcome to stay here until she is able to speak to you, should you want. I know that you are quite close.” 

“Close… yes. So close that she shared some things with me, about you. But I will not speak for Yen.” As Jaskier opened his mouth, Geralt held up a hand. “Neither will you. And don’t sing.” 

They made for the oddest pair. Tissaia found herself wondering about their history after she had directed them to her guest rooms. It wasn’t uncommon for a witcher to gain the adoration of a bard or two along their travels, but they seemed more like an old married couple than anything else. Especially as she heard the way Jaskier was complaining that Geralt wouldn’t let him so much as write a poem about the duel. Something about stripping him of his artistic liberties.

As she returned to check on Yennefer, she wondered about other things as well. Why had Yennefer returned to Rinde in the first place? Had she taken a contract or was she just passing through? What exactly did Yennefer share with Geralt about her? And what was the true reason for the duel?

All of the answers to those questions would need to wait, however, as Yennefer was in no condition to answer any of them. Tissaia was acutely aware of the fact that had the other woman not possessed the strength and healing capabilities of a witcher, the injury would have been fatal. The thought of Yennefer being so close to seeing her last battle caused a shudder to run down her spine, she was thankful no one else was there to witness the reaction.

She sighed as she pulled a chair closer to the side of the bed and seated herself in it. The energy she had expended in order to keep the witcher alive was substantial, so much so that she struggled to even sit completely upright in the chair. And truth be told, at this point she hardly cared about maintaining perfect posture, not while Yennefer lay in her medical bed, taking one shallow breath after the next.

Her eyes closed for what seemed like a few seconds, but she knew it had been much longer the moment she heard Yennefer’s weak voice cut through the silence, she felt somewhat rested.

“T… Tissaia, is that you?” Yennefer rasped as she attempted to sit up.

Tissaia quickly sprung to life, leaning over the witcher to make sure she was alright as she gently pushed her back down into the bed, having hardly recalled getting out of the chair she had apparently fallen asleep in. “Lie back down, Yennefer. You aren’t completely healed and I don’t want you moving around enough to rupture a blood vessel.”

Yennefer felt the soft press of pillows against her back, a sharp contrast to the stabbing pain which ran through her anytime she moved. Her eyes fell in and out of focus as she scanned over Tissaia’s face, the sorceress’ look of worry was hardly hidden. And how relieved Yennefer was to see it once again.

“I… I need to tell you something, it’s important…  _ ah- _ ” Yennefer winced as even speaking at this point brought along more agony.

Tissaia knitted her brows together, upset by the fact that she had just told Yennefer not to move, and yet here she was trying to move about only mere seconds later. She softened once she saw the sincerity behind yellow eyes. “You mustn’t stir, do not make me repeat myself again, Yennefer. There will be plenty of time for that after I’ve done another healing session. After that, I’ll prepare something for us to eat. Then we can talk.”

The witcher nodded quietly, noting the way Tissaia’s voice became much less demanding at the end. She watched as the sorceress stepped away, washing her hands in the wash basin on the table, then drying them thoroughly with a linen cloth. “You’re tired,” she said as Tissaia approached her again.

She only hummed in agreement as she folded the blankets back in order to inspect the dressings. The heavy bandages which she had wrapped around Yennefer’s torso showed only a bit of blood which had soaked through. She was thankful to see that her efforts, combined with the extreme rate of witcher regeneration, had stifled the flow. Changing the bandages could wait until after they had eaten.

Tissaia pressed her hands against the wrappings, near the wound, in order to begin. She felt Yennefer’s abdominal muscles tense beneath as she drew in a sharp intake of breath. “Does that hurt?” She asked as she paused.

“Hopefully not for much longer,” Yennefer said as she managed a tired smirk.

“I’ve already given you more than the recommended amount of healing potions for a witcher of your stature. Anymore and the toxicity build-up in your bloodstream will become too great, and then we will be faced with an entirely different set of problems. Ones which I am not willing to deal with at the moment.”

With her magic, she probed into Yennefer’s body. Yes, her organs were healing well, and she could feel the flesh actively weaving itself back together, albeit slower than she would like, but Tissaia’ wasn’t going to complain about that. She felt the strain on her own body as she channeled her chaotic energy into a healing spell which aided the regeneration. Tissaia bit back the sob which she could feel lingering in the back of her throat. She steeled her nerves and pressed on with the treatment Yennefer desperately still needed.

Yennefer sighed and closed her eyes as the familiar feeling of Tissaia’s careful, magically enhanced touch filled her body with healing energy. While she never enjoyed being critically injured, nothing felt like being healed by this particular sorceress.

Feeling more confident in the fact that her healing was working, Tissaia asked one of the questions which had been ruminating about in her head. “Why did you enter into a duel with the other witcher?”

“To turn down a witcher initiated duel is looked down upon. I couldn’t have Coral holding that over my head everytime we cross paths,” Yennefer replied with a half-hearted chuckle.

“Seems there may have been more reason than just that,” Tissaia said plainly as she recalled what Geralt had said to her.

Yennefer shifted in just the smallest amount, a look of mock pain on her face. “I thought I wasn’t supposed to talk, or move… per your orders.”

Tissaia felt the slightest smile tugging at the corner of her lips. It continued to grow until it became nearly a full grin. Yennefer always knew just how to get to her.

She arched her eyebrow as she replied. “Yes, I did say that. But I’ve since healed you enough to speak, at the very least.” When Yennefer did not immediately talk anew, she continued: “Your reason for the duel, Yennefer?” 

The witcher’s eyes averted to the ceiling and her lips pressed tightly together. “Istredd… he was just suddenly there. Right there, in my face, getting into my business and -  _ ah! _ -” 

She brought a hand up to her side, resting it on the bandage as she had to cut herself off in her rapid talking. “Fucker… It’s all he’s ever done. I used to love him because I thought he was the reason I started my training. But no, I’ve always only done it for myself.” 

Tissaia’s heart clenched in her chest at those words. Those bitter words that Yennefer almost spat out sat heavy in the air. A lover. Yennefer’s past lover who had challenged her to a duel. Even though Tissaia had only her intuition and suspicions, she could guess just why Istredd had sought Yennefer out. She silently damned herself for not arriving sooner, when Yennefer spoke further. 

“But I told him no. I said no, I won’t come away with you and no, I won’t duel you. He insisted, I couldn’t get away from it.” Her voice faded into a hoarse whisper and she closed her eyes, taking a shuddering breath. “Even when I told him… even when I looked him right into the eyes and said no, I already love another.” 

The frost that had been creeping up along Tissaia’s ribs seemed to close in on her heart within a second. She felt her own mouth open in shock, though not to speak. Words appeared to turn to ash on her tongue, viscous and heavy in her mouth. Blessedly, Yennefer still had her eyes closed, to spare her the gaze of her yellow eyes, at least. Tissaia briefly wondered if she should be grateful that Yennefer tried to keep a fraction of the pain away from her. 

Yet it still felt as if her chest was slowly being crushed to pulp. Tissaia swallowed heavily, then sharply inhaled, for she had forgotten to breathe for several seconds. She needed fresh air. She needed to be anywhere Yennefer was  _ not _ , and figure out what to do, how to even convey the feeling of a breaking rejection in a way that would not aggravate Yennefer. Even though there was someone out there who was better than she, for the witcher. Someone who perhaps hadn’t even put their life on the line for Yennefer as she had done. 

“I need… I need a mome- air, I mean. Fresh air, ” she managed to choke out, before standing and turning to the door of her garden. Not in many decades had she felt so helpless. Even the ways she had felt during her fever did not scratch the surface of what she felt at that moment. 

A rustle behind her indicated that Yennefer moved, just what Tissaia had explicitly told her  _ not _ to do. But the sorceress couldn’t even bear to turn around. 

“Tissaia!” Yennefer rasped, her voice equal parts pained and desperate. “Tissaia, wait!” 

~~~

She had not worded that right. In fact, the moment that Yennefer had opened her eyes and hadn’t met Tissaia’s watery, unbelieving, relieved eyes full of love and warmth but instead the sorceress’ back, she realized that she could not possibly have worded it less wrong. 

“You misunderstand!” she said, trying to reach the woman before she shut the garden door. Tissaia’s hand trembled on the grip of the door handle and Yennefer could see her body stiffen with that little breath she always took to compose herself. “You misunderstand, Tissaia, please… I meant you. It’s you. It’s always been you…” 

A quiet, yet sudden draw of breath was all Yennefer heard from the sorceress for what felt like much longer than it likely was. Tissaia’s hand slipped away from the handle of the door and rested next to her side, her back still facing Yennefer.

“And this is why you are in Rinde? For me?” Tissaia asked, her voice cracking just slightly as she did so.

Speaking still took a great deal of effort, Yennefer noticed. But she could keep the feelings she had for Tissaia bottled up no longer. And even if it hurt to explain those feelings to the sorceress, both physically and emotionally, she was willing and ready to endure the pain. For Tissaia was more than worth it.

“Yes, I came back to Rinde because no matter how far or fast I ran from it… from you… the feelings I have for you were always there.” Yennefer paused to take a breath, uncertain as to whether it was because her injury was still hindering her breathing, or if it was because what she was confessing to Tissaia was something she never thought she would be prepared to admit. “I tried everything from smashing apart nearly half of the training dummies in Kaer Morhen, to hunting monsters  _ with Coral _ , of all people. But none of it worked, you were still always on my mind. Whether I wanted it or not.”

Slowly, Tissaia turned to face her, wearing a look which Yennefer couldn’t quite decipher. “It hurt, when you left. Worse than the sickness and much worse than the wyvern claw which punctured my flesh,” Tissaia said as she touched along her shoulder at the scar which undoubtedly decorated the skin beneath her clothes. She sat back down in the chair she had dragged closer to Yennefer’s bedside in order to watch over and care for her. “Did it ever occur to you, possibly, that I might have feelings too?”

“No,” Yennefer replied as she cast her eyes away from the other woman. “I didn’t understand any of it. I thought I wasn’t supposed to have feelings. Or maybe I never thought I was deserving of having them returned from someone like you. Just… look at me, I’m a mess… “ she said, her voice wavered as she turned to look at Tissaia.

Yennefer watched Tissaia’s blue eyes as they carefully scanned over the scar across the middle of her face, inflicted by the wyvern queen. It still stung periodically, and this was one of those occasions. “Those things do not matter to me, Yennefer. Your wellbeing matters to me, yes, but the scars you wear are not a deterrent to me. My heart being treated kindly, however, also matters to me.”

“Tissaia, I’m so sorry for leaving you. Especially in the state you were in. I should have stayed with you, just as you do to me.” Yennefer fought back a sob, which was easy to do in her weakened state. She reached up and placed her hand over Tissaia’s heart. “I didn’t know about…” 

Tissaia froze, a flush of crimson dusted her cheeks. She covered Yennefer’s hand with her own, lacing her fingers between the witcher’s and closed her eyes. She felt her own heart beating, seemingly stronger, through both of their hands. “How could you know that which I have never shared.”

Yennefer felt it’s rhythmic pace as well as the warmth from Tissaia’s body as she held her hand there for just a few more moments. The sorceress then released her hold and Yennefer drew it back underneath the blankets.

“I would do better for you, if you would have me.” Yennefer blurted out, uncertain if it would be met with anger and disgust.

Looking down at her clasped hands, Tissaia furrowed her brow. “After you had left, I tried to do the very same thing you did. I tried to pretend my feelings for you didn’t exist. I wanted to forget everything. The memories of running around the Continent together, our shared adventures, had become too much and so I shoved them away. But the moment I saw you nearly fall from that blade, I knew that was an impossible task.”

“Then what do we do about it? Since neither of us can seem to forget about the other,” Yennefer said, her voice nothing more than a whisper.

Tissaia hummed, then rested her hand on Yennefer's forearm. “Perhaps we try to push aside our reservations, instead of our feelings, and give this a chance.” 

Yennefer could not resist a laugh, even though it was rough and painful in her chest. “Tissaia, do you hear yourself? Letting go of your reservations, allowing your feelings in. What have I done to you?” 

“Mages often think they are immune to love,” Tissaia said as she slowly shook her head. Her eyes seemed to soften with the second. “Philippa thought so, until she… well, I assume Coral shared the story with you.” 

Huffing, Yennefer closed her eyes for a brief moment. She could still see Coral’s extremely smug grin as she gleefully told her many details that she had not wanted to know. “Shared… Overshared, rather. She was also the one who told me about your heart.” 

“I had gathered as much. Then you have heard the tale of how Philippa and I were paired with her for our tasks in Skellige.” There were many emotions on Tissaia’s face for a moment. Joy, but also a kind of pain and something wistful too. At Yennefer’s nodding, she sighed with a thin smile wavering on her lips. “We quite possibly would have won, if not for my condition.” 

The sadness that coloured Tissaia’s features made a desire well up from deep inside Yennefer. A desire to soothe that sadness and take it away, despite the fact that she had trouble moving without pain. But if there was anything that Yennefer was, it was headstrong. “Help me sit,” she said. “I want to…. I-” 

Falling silent, she looked Tissaia into the eyes, not quite sure just  _ what _ she wanted. To comfort her, yes. To kiss her, very much. But in which order? Tissaia seemed to guess as much. She chuckled softly. 

“As much as I would like to… try that, with you, your breath currently still smells of blood and you have not washed. Perhaps I could make a bit of food while Geralt helps you?” 

It wasn’t a no, Yennefer told herself. She would just need to bide her time and savour her desire for later. Regardless, the last thing she wanted to do was to gross out Tissaia with anything, including blood on her breath. Thus, she nodded and conceded. As Tissaia smiled, turned and walked away to retrieve Geralt, Yennefer tried her very best to keep her eyes on the back of the sorceress’ head, instead of letting them wander downwards. 

Later, after they had eaten and Yennefer had slept until the sun had set, the witcher looked upon the sorceress who was dutifully writing letters. She was seated at the small table near the bed, the one she used exclusively for crafting potions and other duties delegated to healing.

“I thought I would never see you writing a letter anywhere else other than from the comforts of your study,” Yennefer said with a smirk.

Tissaia continued to pen her letter until she had finished responding to the inquiry and had signed her name. She returned the quill to the inkpot which was crammed between several vials filled with healing potions and other beneficial concoctions. Only once she had uttered an incantation to seal the correspondence, did she glance over and reply to Yennefer.

“I would like to say that it isn’t often I have to look over a certain witcher who is prone to injury which could result in death, but we both know that isn’t true.” Tissaia set her letter aside and stood, humming thoughtfully as she made her way to the witcher in question and took a seat beside her. “It is nearly time to change your bandages, I’d like to take care of that now.”

“ _ Oh _ , so you do care about me,” Yennefer replied with a smug grin as she folded her hands behind her head, wincing as she did so. The pain was enough to stifle her self-assured attitude and she instead rested her hands by her side.

“Of course I care, otherwise I wouldn’t bother with the likes of you, Yennefer of Vengerberg.” Tissaia cast a somewhat playful look, by her standards, towards the witcher before pulling back the blankets which covered the injured woman’s bandages. They were only mildly stained with blood, something which set the healer’s mind at ease.

Yennefer watched the sorceress as she then sat on the bed next to her, motioning for her to sit up and assisting her by slipping an arm around her shoulders in order to do so. “It doesn’t hurt as much, unless I move too suddenly,” she said as Tissaia began to unwrap the soiled bandages.

“I’m glad to hear that, it appears to be healing without any further issue,” Tissaia said as she peered at the wound. The edges of it were still a bit inflamed but Yennefer’s blood had crusted around it completely and she could feel it’s enhanced properties not only pulling the skin around the injury shut, but protecting it too.

Unsure if she should reveal the fact that she had been silently watching Tissaia off and on for the last several hours, Yennefer hesitated with asking her question. “You have written several letters. Many more than you usually do. Is everything alright?”

Tissaia sighed as she wetted a sterile cloth and dabbed it around Yennefer’s laceration. She tried to avoid recollecting the many conversations Philippa had with her in regards to  _ ‘witcher stamina’ _ , as she felt the injured woman's rippling muscles tense beneath the action. She wouldn’t have been surprised if that had been entirely intentional on Yennefer’s part.

“There are rumours surfacing, pertaining to Nilfgaard, and their desire to expand the empire,” Tissaia explained as she reached for a clean set of linen bandages in order to replace them anew.

Yennefer frowned. She had heard songs as of late about Nilfgaard. In fact, they were so horribly performed that they made her teeth ache just listening to them. She had almost been inclined to write a letter to Geralt and send it to him in Kaer Morhen telling him which taverns to avoid. Though he probably already knew that on account of the fact that he had his own traveling bard who was admittedly very talented, if not infuriating.

“And you believe these rumours to be true?”

“I do. I’ve responded to both Philippa and King Vizimir, who wanted to know where Rinde stood should Nilfgaard descend upon the north. I’ve also been corresponding with Rectoress de Winter, who has seemed to thaw out over the last fifty years or so. She’s been trying to ascertain what kind of role the sorceresses she has trained to protect the interests of the Continent should serve in this.”

Yennefer drew her lip back into a snarl, having remembered Coral’s description of the Rectoress of Aretuza and how cold she had been to Tissaia, whether she had kept her alive with her spells or not. “And where do you and the city of Rinde stand on this matter?”

Tissaia finished binding the wrappings around Yennefer's waist and lowered her back down until she was resting comfortably against the mound of plush pillows she had provided to the witcher. She placed her hand atop the bandages and pulled at the fabric of chaos just enough to close the last of the damage together. Yennefer gasped suddenly and arched her back beneath the touch, then exhaled in relief.

“I will protect that which I love with everything that I am. This city and its inhabitants… They are my responsibility. They are mine to protect. As are you.”

Yennefer could feel the warmth behind Tissaia’s words just as she felt the warmth of the hand which still rested on her abdomen. “And I would stand next to you as you do so, Tissaia. I promise I won’t flee this time.”

Slowly, Tissaia’s hand traced itself up to Yennefer’s face. She ran her thumb along the scar which traversed features both soft and hard, for the rugged Lady-Witcher of Vengerberg had always been undeniably beautiful in her eyes, whether she wanted to admit it or not. 

“I mean it, Tissaia. I will stand by your side and protect you just as you protect Rinde.”

“I know you will,” Tissaia said as she felt a hitch in her throat, knowing just how strong they could be together. “I know.”

Yennefer sat up, clutching at her stomach, finding that the pain wasn’t half bad anymore. Her eyes fluttered shut as Tissaia’s thumb had never left the scar on her face and the sensation of smoothe strokes against her healing flesh left her wanting for so much more.

A muffled gasp sounded in the back of her throat as she felt the press of Tissaia’s lips against hers. Never before had she been kissed so softly and yet so deliberately.

“Are you sure you…” Yennefer’s words were lost on her lips as Tissaia seemed to swallow them up with the increasing intensity of her kiss. She fell back into the pillows, pulling the sorceress down with her. Uncertain with what to do with her hands, Yennefer rested them on the small of Tissaia’s back, tracing a finger along her spine until the kiss was broken and they were left panting against each other.

“You taste of mint,” Tissaia said as she drew herself back with a smile.

“I had Geralt bring me some to chew so I would be less offensive to you when we did… this.”

“I think I’m beginning to like Geralt,” Tissaia mused.

Feeling emboldened, Yennefer grasped a pillow from behind her head and swatted Tissaia with it. She immediately felt a shock of uncertainty flood her core as Tissaia cast a judgmental look down upon her. It faded the moment Tissaia leaned down and kissed her once again.

The sorceress’ kiss tasted sweeter than anything else, and she found herself chasing after it once Tissaia slowly pulled herself away.

“I’m going to prepare dinner for us.”

Yennefer whimpered at the loss of those lips against hers. But her ears perked up at the prospect of Tissaia’s cooking. “Alright, then. But do be sure to return soon,” she said as a grin spread across her face. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We kept the promise of fluff :D


	23. Chapter 23

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fair warning: this chapter has a fade to black, so probably not wise to read it in public

[Greypaws](https://soundcloud.com/user-100350749) · [Still Waters Chapter 23](https://soundcloud.com/user-100350749/still-waters-chapter-23)

_(Narration by Greypaws~ )_

* * *

Sometimes, one has a moment where they can’t fathom how they have ever lived without something. Such was the case with Yennefer, every day she woke up with Tissaia’s body pressed against hers. The sorceress’ form fitted well against her own, in the curve of her larger one or with her head on Yennefer’s chest. She was so warm that Yennefer had first wondered whether she wasn’t too cold to lie against. But Tissaia had assured her no, and they had slept well together ever since. 

Geralt had left rather abruptly after he had heard that Nilfgaard was stirring in the south. No one had been able to persuade him to tell what was on his mind, except for the fact that he was heading to Cintra. It was only after he left that Yennefer recalled when Coral had told her about Geralt’s child of surprise. She could only guess that to be the cause for his departure, though by then it had been too late to ask him. 

Longer than Yennefer had wanted, Tissaia had kept her in the medical room. Her argument had been that it was close to the bandages, herbs and potions, should she need them. And no matter how Yennefer longed to sleep in Tissaia’s bed, the sorceress’ will was of steel. The first week, she had brought Yennefer food in the chamber and had only allowed her to sit outside for a few hours in the garden while she made dinner. After that, she had granted Yennefer more freedom, even going to the market to purchase some garments that would fit the witcher. 

She was wearing several of them now. Loose trousers of black cotton with leather patches on the knees, tucked into soft leather shoes. An equally soft shirt of beige fabric with a broad, intricately woven leather belt around the waist and reddish filigree embroidered into the edges. Yennefer had left the threads closing the collar open. She had noticed Tissaia’s eyes flicking to it every so often, but chose only to smile wolfishly. However, she had also taken great joy in kissing Tissaia several times, feeling the smaller woman’s hand rest on her collar bones. 

The kisses. The soft, little kisses that Tissaia treated her with during the day were hasty and chaste, as the sorceress sped around her house and the town in her life. It seemed busier than it used to be a decade ago. She was nearly always home in the evenings, though. Then the kisses were more languid, with hints of tongue and sounds smothered in Tissaia’s throat. Yennefer could not wait for the day she was healed enough to properly explore what laid beneath those perfectly pressed dresses. 

“You are going with me to the market,” Tissaia said, shaking her out of her lazy reverie. The sun shone pleasantly through the leaves of the apple tree in the garden, speckling the bench beneath with flecks of gold. “Now, if you are ready.” 

“Like this?” Yennefer asked, gesturing down to herself and her casual clothing. While Tissaia had tried to become more accommodating to her habits, Yennefer knew that the least she could do as lover was to return the favour. 

With a purse of lips that the witcher knew well, Tissaia shook her head. “There is a doublet and a jerkin in the medical chamber. Over the chair next to your bed, dark green velvet and soft leather respectively.” 

“We are to wear matching clothes, then?” Stretching lazily, Yennefer looked up and down her lover’s figure. She wore a tight fitting green dress with beautiful braided patterns on the shoulders. 

“If you wish to call it so.” A little smile curled Tissaia’s lips. It was still on them when Yennefer had replaced her shirt with the things Tissaia had indicated. After pressing a small kiss onto those prettily smiling lips, Yennefer chuckled and headed out. She quickly got a basket pushed into her hands and shook her head in amusement as she followed Tissaia to the market. 

They purchased various spices. Freshly ground pepper, exotic cinnamon, dried bundles of fragrant thyme and mint, juniper berries in a little sack. Yennefer watched as Tissaia carefully selected every item, placing them in the basket with care. 

“Why do you buy food like this?” she asked as they headed away from the stall. “You could have it delivered, or conjure it up. Why put in this much effort?” 

“Would the people of my city know me if I stayed in my house and only came out when I was needed?” Tissaia offered with an updrawn eyebrow. “Rinde is not a court, I am not sworn to a king. I am sworn to this city, and everyone that lives within.” 

Mulling over that, Yennefer followed along. They bought potatoes and celery, four large red onions, a linen bag full of little green peas. Tissaia spoke with someone to deliver milk and butter at her house the next day. Then she took Yennefer to a stall where hunters’ catches were laid out. 

“I am looking for a rabbit. This afternoon we will make a stew and let it softly boil into the evening until the meat is tender. Which one do you think is decent?” 

The  _ we _ made Yennefer’s heart do an odd jump in her chest. She inhaled sharply and scanned over the various skinned rabbits that were available. “Second from the right? Looks plump, bit of fat on it. But you want to make stew, not roast it… Maybe the smaller one hanging from that hook?” 

Tissaia followed her pointing finger with her eyes and nodded contently, stepping closer to the stall to purchase the meat. She also bought a fabric-wrapped chunk of lard and stashed it all into the basket. They headed home, where they laid the ingredients out on the kitchen counter together. 

After instructing Yennefer to stash the spices in the designated cabinet, and playfully telling her it would be a good chance to learn them by heart, Tissaia ignited a fire under a wide pan. She placed the lard into it and turned to the counter as it melted and filled the kitchen with a pleasant scent. 

“Can you cut the rabbit into sizable parts? Then we can brown them before putting them into the stew.”

Yennefer found herself staring at the rabbit as if she had never cut one apart in her entire life. She had, of course, several times, but this was in the field and she never used any type of finesse. Her hand hovered over the meat, cutting knife clenched tightly in her fist for several seconds, before she felt Tissaia’s warm hand rest on her back.

The sorceress wore an amused look and Yennefer felt her anxiety fade as Tissaia explained that it didn’t need to be perfect. “It is eventually going to be a stew, after all. I find that stew is very forgiving as long as you are patient with it.”

Tissaia pulled her hand away and returned to stoking the flames in her wood burning oven. While Yennefer felt the loss of her touch immediately, something else warmed in her heart. “Is that why you’ve chosen to make this particular meal with me? So it’s harder for me to fuck it up?”

“I’m certain you could still manage to do so,” the sorceress returned as she adjusted the wood until the airflow allowed an even, steady burn.

She held her hand to her chest in an overly dramatic fashion, gasping with the motion. “Tissaia, you wound me. How will I ever have the confidence to continue now?”

Tissaia hummed as she pulled a tray out to brown the meat on once Yennefer had finished with it. She found herself smiling ever so slightly at the sarcastic yet playful remarks which seemed to bubble from Yennefer constantly.

They returned to preparing the meal together, Tissaia guiding her on how to brown the meat without losing any moisture or drying it out before left to simmer with the other ingredients. Yennefer took note of the fuss she made about acquiring the perfect temperature during the browning process and was left to wonder if it was as forgiving as she had indicated earlier. She found it mattered very little as Tissaia was being just as patient with her as she was the stew.

As Yennefer listened to Tissaia explain her preferred blend spices that she liked to use for this recipe, and how much of each seasoning was ideal depending on whether she wanted it to be a bit sweet or savoury instead, she realized just how intimate the interaction felt. She wondered if Tissaia had chosen this recipe just so they could spend a substantial amount of time together in her kitchen.

She didn’t mind the prospect of that at all. Not when Tissaia was doing things such as resting her hand on her arm as she explained something to her. And certainly not while Yennefer was able to rest a hand on the small of Tissaia’s back when she passed behind her to retrieve something from the other side of the kitchen, despite the fact that there was plenty of space to walk around her. Nor did she mind when everything had finally been prepared and placed in the pot to simmer and they just leaned against the counter and conversed casually, after having cleaned up.

“This is already making me hungry, it smells so good,” Yennefer said, inhaling deeply as she cast her yellow gaze to the pot. “Is it finished yet?”

“Not in the slightest. We will cook this slowly for several hours before it is ready.  _ This  _ is the part which requires patience, Yenna.” Tissaia felt her heart nearly leap into her throat as the term of endearment slipped from her lips with nary a second thought.

Yennefer smiled unabashedly as she stepped closer to Tissaia then brushed a thumb across her cheek in hope that the gentle touch would smooth the look of shock which the sorceress was still wearing. Her blue eyes fluttered shut as she did so. “It’s alright, you can call me that if you’d like. I don’t mind.”

“I’m not used to… this,” Tissaia said as she motioned between them, realizing just how much of the iron facade she had disassembled in order to let Yennefer in.

“Well, neither am I, but I wouldn’t mind getting used to it if it means that we get to do… this,“ Yennefer said as she gestured between them, in the same way as Tissaia had.

“You mean cooking? After all of these years and you mean to tell me that all I had to do in order to get you to stay was to teach you how to make rabbit stew?” Tissaia replied, her look of fright had since disappeared and was replaced with an arched eyebrow and a slight smile.

“I believe  _ someone  _ is starting to enjoy my sarcastic sense of humour. So much so that they seem to be emulating it themselves.”

“You flatter yourself, Lady Witcher of Vengerberg,” Tissaia said as she made her way to the far end of the kitchen. She pulled a small clay serving platter from a cabinet and a knife from the drawer. “I have some dried fruits and cured sausage. We can sit in the garden and eat while we wait for dinner to cook, if you would like some fresh air.”

Yennefer frowned as her eyes scanned over the cabinets in the sorceress’ kitchen, trying to remember just which one contained the cups so she could attempt to make some kind of tea for them to drink as well. Pleased that it only took her two attempts, she set them down on the counter, then retrieved the pot.

She opened the spice cabinet and immediately groaned at the impressive selection Tissaia had at her disposal. While tea leaves were something Tissaia could most likely pull from the cabinet with her eyes closed, the only thing Yennefer recognized were the spices she had stashed in there earlier. Absentmindedly, she grabbed the first container on the shelf closest to her and uncorked the vial before sniffing the contents. Undoubtedly, it was not tea.

  
  


“That’s sage, Yennefer,” Tissaia said as she chuckled. “I have some dried vervain leaves which would be much more suitable to make tea with. I will show you where.” She set the knife down on the platter and walked over to the witcher. Her body brushed against her as she reached into the cabinet to retrieve a small, white linen bag with a drawstring cinched shut in order to keep its contents from drying out too much. She felt a shudder, which was certainly not unpleasant, run through her body at the feeling of Yennefer’s cooler temperature, combined with her nicely developed musculature as she pressed against it.

“I know what sage is, I just didn’t  _ know  _ until I smelled it.” Slowly and deliberately, Yennefer took the small bag from Tissaia’s hand, ensuring their fingers brushed as their eyes met and their gaze held. She leaned down, claiming Tissaia’s lips with her own and relished the soft muffled sound which escaped the sorceress’ throat as they kissed.

Tissaia slowly drew away, nearly breathless, then rested her forehead against the witcher’s collarbone. She loosened the tight grasp she had unknowingly held on Yennefer's bicep. Her cheeks were flush and she hoped that burying her head in the crook of the taller woman’s neck for a few moments would hide it until it was gone. “I will heat the water for the tea, if you would finish cutting the sausage and bring the platter outside to the garden?”

“Of course,” Yennefer returned rather smugly before making her way to the platter in order to finish cutting the remaining sausage. She winced as she brought the blade through the toughened meat. Such a simple action, yet it was enough to jar her injury once again. She gritted her teeth as the pain moved through the path that the blade had taken through her torso. Carefully, she set the knife down and clutched at her stomach while bracing herself against the counter with the other. She hadn’t wanted to alarm Tissaia, but the quickened steps which sounded behind her told her it was too late.

“Are you alright? Turn around, I want to look at you,” Tissaia demanded, an edge of concern in her tone. After having probed her magically to check for internal damages, and having cast a light healing spell, she exhaled. “You are still in recovery, it is easy to forget that sometimes.”

“I am fine, Tissaia. It’s been two weeks since the injury. Though… if you want to look at me, I won’t say no.” A smirk appeared on Yennefer’s face as she laid her hand over Tissaia’s, which still rested on her stomach. 

To her surprise, Tissaia did not pull away as if she had been burned. Rather, she smiled shakily in turn and patted Yennefer’s shirt with her fingertips before sliding her hand out from under the witcher’s larger one. She grabbed the platter with dried fruit and sausage in one hand, the teapot in the other. Nodding her head for Yennefer to follow her, she headed into the garden, closing the door behind her with magic. 

“You must know that I may not be what you expect of me,” she said as she sat down on the bench, raising a hand to let the teapot levitate and pour out into two mugs. “It has been a long time since I trusted someone so with my body. Does this speaking about it… does it bother you? Perhaps you prefer it to be spontaneous.” 

“Well, no. You’re not Coral, that’s for sure,” Yennefer answered with a chuckle. She tossed a piece of cured sausage into her mouth and took her time to chew and think. “I couldn’t set my expectations aside in Temeria, but I can do it now,” she plainly said with a light shrug. “We’ll just… start somewhere, see what happens, see where we end up. I don’t know, I’ve never had a lover like you.” 

She could see in Tissaia’s eyes that the woman did not fully like the uncertainty, but there wasn’t much any of them could do against that. Even though there was some tension in Tissaia’s shoulders, she didn’t seem to be very distressed. In fact, there was a hint of playfulness in her during the diner, when she brushed her foot against Yennefer’s ankle, then trailing further up her calf. Her face remained perfectly smooth as she stirred her stew. 

Not so much when they were finishing up their dishes and putting away the bowls they had used. Wisps of nervousness and tension played at Tissaia’s features, so much so that Yennefer wanted to smooth them out. She offered to finish the cleaning, to give Tissaia some time. While the sorceress went upstairs to wash herself, Yennefer sat down on the edge of the bed in the medical chamber. 

She would be careful, she told herself.

When Tissaia finally appeared in the doorway wearing a silken green bathrobe tied at the waist with what looked to be nothing else worn beneath, Yennefer felt all of the air escape her lungs. She looked magnificent.

Her dark hair was damp and had been loosened from its pristine bun. It tumbled, unrestrained, over her shoulders in a series of loose curls. A smile quirked at the corners of her mouth as blue eyes scanned over her form not once, but twice. Yennefer had never felt so desired in all of her years and found that she could do nothing more than sit on the edge of the bed with her mouth hanging half open, and watch as Tissaia approached her.

Tissaia rested her hand on her collarbone, then traced her fingers along the side of her neck. She entwined her fingers around the fine hairs at the base of her neck as she leaned in casually and pressed a series of kisses along Yennefer’s jawline.

Yennefer felt a fire spreading throughout her veins as Tissaia’s lips met hers in equal parts control and desire. The pace was agonizingly slow, and yet Yennefer found that she had never minded anything less.

As Tissaia’s hands bunched around the fabric of her loose shirt, and a muffled sound escaped the back of the sorceress’ throat while their lips brushed against each other, she finally found the appeal of the word ‘patience’. For she knew she’d wait another lifetime if she had to, just to experience this with Tissaia.

“To my bedroom, Yennefer,” Tissaia breathed into her ear. She felt strong muscles flex beneath surprisingly soft skin as her fingers found their way into the opening of the witcher’s shirt.

Yennefer gasped against Tissaia’s neck as a warm hand traced along the scar the forktail had left behind. If she didn’t know better, Yennefer would have thought Tissaia was still trying to heal the decades old wound. The hair on her skin raised and she fought back the urge to hoist Tissaia up in her arms and carry her to the sorceress’ chambers, as she knew the other woman may not appreciate the sudden aggressiveness. She had promised to be careful, after all.

She let Tissaia take her by the hand and lead her out of the medical chambers. A seed of doubt began to grow in her belly at the thought that she might not be good enough for the other woman.

Every worry she had faded the moment she felt the back of her legs pressed against the mattress of Tissaia’s four post bed. Her arms encircled the sorceress’ slender waist and she pulled her close to her body, nipping playfully along the base of her neck and relishing the way Tissaia seemed to melt in her embrace.

In one swift motion, Yennefer spun them both around and Tissaia suddenly found her back pressed up against the mound of pillows on her bed. The witcher's yellow eyes were affixed solely on hers as she crawled up the mattress until she was hovering over her.

“You didn’t think you would hold all of the control tonight, did you?” Yennefer purred against her new lover before pulling open the dark green ties of her robe, which had threads of gold laced through it, allowing the silk to part dramatically and reveal that which she had been longing to see.

“No, I did not,” Tissaia replied, shuddering as Yennefer kissed the scar on her shoulder, left behind by the wyvern queen.

Her voice was hardly more than a whisper as she husked against the shell of Tissaia’s ear. “You are so beautiful.”

Tissaia felt her spine relax as Yennefer carefully tugged at the shoulders of her robe until she had slipped both arms out of the sleeves and lay before her, completely naked, utterly vulnerable and yet thoroughly content.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don’t say you’re disappointed for it not continuing and especially **do not** demand us to write a continuation. We’re not comfortable doing that and want to keep our accounts sfw.


	24. Chapter 24

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fifty Skelligen ships~

[Greypaws](https://soundcloud.com/user-100350749) · [Still Waters Chapter 24](https://soundcloud.com/user-100350749/still-waters-chapter-24)

_(Narration by Greypaws!)  
  
_

* * *

[brazenedMinstrel](https://soundcloud.com/user-768938233) · [Still Waters - The Red-Haired Bear [22th of November 2020]](https://soundcloud.com/user-768938233/still-waters-the-red-haired-bear-22th-of-november-2020)

_(Coral's Theme! By braz)_

* * *

Coral inhaled deeply. She loved the smell of the seaspray, and the seaspray itself, as the sea sprayed its salt water on her face. Turning around, she looked at Philippa, who was standing a distance away, trying to avoid the somewhat unsteady, seaweed covered rocks. 

“Why won’t you join me?” Coral called out to her. 

“Because I prefer my clothes free of salt and slime. I know you don’t care, but I do.” Huffing, Philippa crossed her arms. “And why have you agreed with this… endeavour? I know king Eist wrote you personally, but I thought witchers were not supposed to be so nationalistic.” 

“Skellige is my home, witcher or not,” Coral said with a shrug. “I was as happy as most when he married the Lioness of Cintra. Is that why you’re going too, by the way? Because Cintra did not send a mage? Do they even have one?” 

“They have a druid at court, so I heard. But no, I am here because my king wants to stake out the Nilfgaardian threat without going himself. Since Redania’s other important sorceress is currently also sticking her hands in a witcher’s pants, and said witcher is distinctly not here, I am.” 

“Perhaps also because you want to stick your hands in my pants while we’re in the cabin of a ship?” 

“Do not insinuate that I still follow you around for that, Coral.” 

“But do you?” 

Philippa bit the inside of her cheek, then sighed as a bit of a real blush crept up underneath the powdered one on her face. “Perhaps. You are good.” 

Coral laughed and patted Philippa on her shoulder before she walked up the slope of the coast. There, by the piers of Kaer Trolde, fifty ships were moored. Fifty Skelligen ships, ready to sail and aid Cintra’s forces in their battle by Marnadal. Coral grinned as she glanced at the bustle around them. 

“Besides, can you imagine being under Nilfgaardian rule?” she asked Philippa. “No quest to call your own, all dictated by one man who knows nothing of my craft.” 

“That is not why I fight to stop him, dear,” Philippa answered with an uplift of her chin that only a sorceress could perform. 

Shrugging, Coral thumbed the handle of one of her throwing axes that hung from her belt. “No, but it’s why _I_ will.”

“Suit yourself, I will board that ship with you just the same.” Philippa said as she turned her back to Coral in order to face the fleet. “I trust we will ride aboard the lead ship?”

The bear witcher chuckled a bit more than was warranted, wiping the corners of her eyes as Philippa shrugged her shoulders in confusion at her reaction. “Forgive me love, I do not mean to laugh at you... “

“Then just exactly what is it that amuses you so?”

“There may be one ship which is the fastest out of all of them. And there may be one armed with more weaponry, while another is built to take a hit.” Coral extended her arm, motioning towards all fifty ships in one broad sweep. “But we all lead the battle, in our own way.”

Philippa huffed as she walked up to Coral and placed a kiss on her cheek. “Always the romantic,” she said before turning away and beginning her transformation. “Whatever ship it is you choose to board, I will meet you there. I’m going to take a look at the fleet first, however. I’ve not spent much time at sea and I would like to know these vessels a little more, before I risk my life on one.”

With that, the sorceress shifted into her alternate form in an uptake of wind which swirled around her body, leaving only a single feather behind as she flew off towards the ships in order to inspect them further.

Coral knelt down and picked up the feather, tucking it into the leather pouch affixed to her belt. She scanned the fleet, it was a magnificent sight and she felt rather envious of Philippa that she could fly above them and take in the immensity of it all.

As a witcher, she wasn’t bound to any specific ship. In fact, it had been made very clear to her that she could choose which vessel she would become a part of during the journey to Cintra. She was relieved to have the freedom to choose. 

The first ship she inspected was constructed of lightweight planks and had a more slender design than the rest. “This ship is the fastest of the fleet!” It’s captain proclaimed enthusiastically. 

“We’ll see how fast it is with the weight of Phil’s complaining,” Coral mumbled to herself while boarding, though she couldn’t resist a smile. 

~~~

Philippa opened her eyes, yawning as the cabin she occupied with Coral came into focus. They were lodged well, with warm blankets and enough space to stash all of Coral’s armour and weapons. There was a large washbasin and even a mirror provided. Through one of the portholes, a few streaks of rozy sunlight shone into the room. Dawn, just barely broken. 

With a content hum, Philippa adjusted the blankets a little and snuggled against Coral’s side. The witcher was still asleep, snoring like a true bear. Philippa huffed and prodded her in the ribs until she stirred and cracked one green-yellow eye open. 

“... ‘s odd,” she slurred. 

“What is odd?” Philippa answered, laughing softly at how Coral attempted to wipe her wild hair out of her own face. 

Clearing her throat, Coral got the crack out of her voice. “It’s odd that we’re going to battle later today. Have you seen the beautiful light?” 

“Red as the fires that Nilfgaard will light if we don’t defeat them today.” 

“It’s still morning, Phil,” Coral groaned. “Let’s enjoy it while it lasts.” 

She sat upright, so her hair spilled like a shaggy waterfall over her shoulders, red as the sunlight. The muscles in her arms rolled as she stretched, accidentally scraping over the ceiling when she lifted her arms. Now they both laughed, Coral’s slanted grin taking up half of her face as she said: “This cabin can’t contain me.” 

“I’m starting to believe nothing can,” Philippa replied, sitting upright too, humming contently as she pressed her body against her lover’s. As she folded back the blanket, it revealed the angelfish tattooed on Coral’s thigh. 

She grinned at the memory. It had involved another meeting between herself, Tissaia and Coral, several months after the first. They had gone to Novigrad, and one way or another they had ended up in front of a tattoo parlour, where she and Coral had egged each other on to get one while Tissaia squirmed and stubbornly refused to enter. In the end, Coral had gotten the fish on her leg and Philippa a feather on her lower back, cringing throughout the process. 

The fishie. That’s how she called it sometimes. Tracing a finger around its outline, she felt the muscles underneath flex. With a grin to match Coral’s she looked up to find the witcher’s smirk staring down at her. “Once, before breakfast and those godsforsaken strategy talks?” 

“Won’t you be too loose-limbed then?” Coral asked, though her hands already went to Philippa’s sides to pull the other woman atop her leg. 

“Of course not, I have spells for that.” 

~~~

A satisfying few minutes and a boring few hours later, they both leaned against the wooden railing, Philippa with her side, Coral with her hands on it. The waves lapped at the planks of the ship as it steadily slid towards the estuary of the Marnadal river. 

Their plan for battle was not the most complicated, as one could expect from a fight partially led by a king of Skellige. Moor a distance away from the battlefield, attack the Nilfgaardians in the back and disperse them, then meet the Cintran army in the middle and return to the city of Cintra to celebrate. All in a day’s work, according to their commander. Coral’s bardiche and heavy steel sword would come in handy with breaking the enemy lines. 

“Wind’s picking up,” Coral said, drawing Philippa’s attention away from the upcoming fight. 

She glanced at the surface of the sea, where the darkness of the depths below was now tipped with greyish waves. Inhaling deeply, she ran her tongue over the roof of her mouth and frowned. “Too fast,” she murmured, turning to Coral. “It’s picking up too fast. I taste magic, Coral.” 

A little nod was all the indication that Coral heard her. The witcher picked up her bardiche, resting it on the deck with its end as she looked up at the sails. “I believe you… look, do you see it? The wind’s coming from all sides. This is wrong, Phil.” 

She made a move to sprint towards the back of the ship and warn the helmsman, when the entire boat suddenly lurched under her feet. She stumbled forward and widened her stance, hardly able to keep herself upright as the ship rolled violently. The helmsman fought hard to retain control of the vessel as Coral could see the strain on his face.

“This is no ordinary storm, it’s brought about by magic,” she shouted over the sound of the wind as it roared around her.

“Seems someone doesn’t want us to make it to Cintra,” he shouted back at her after shielding his face against his shoulder in order to avoid a spray of seawater kicked up by the gale.

The fleet had begun to break formation as she rushed to help the crew with adjusting the sails to gain control over the ship. They steered away from each other, trying to give enough space between boats and the roughened, angry sea, in order to avoid colliding.

“They mean to blind us,” Philippa muttered to herself as she gripped tightly to the bow of the ship, trying to avoid getting in the way of the panicked crew as they prepared the ship for sailing in storm conditions. Through the choppy waves which grew in intensity with every passing, she noticed wisps of fog condensing along the surface of the water.

Soon, it was a thick blanket which spread outwardly until all fifty ships had been engulfed. It roiled upwards and into the sky, shrouding the light of the sun until it was as if it were the dead of the night. The rumble of thunder could be felt through the deck of the ship and the only illumination they received was from the lightning which began to split through the sky.

“Is there nothing you can do?” Coral’s voice was hardly audible over the sound of the growing storm, but Philippa knew what she was asking.

What her lover didn’t know was that she had already begun to probe into the storm with her magical capabilities, searching for weaknesses which she could exploit in order to break it apart. She found it to be more sound than any spell she had ever encountered, so tightly woven were the threads of chaos which constructed the spell that the moment she pushed against them with her own magic, she felt a surge of painful energy course through her body. She should have known a storm created for the sole purpose of sinking fifty Skellegen ships to the bottom of the sea would have been protected fiercely with wards.

“I can’t break the spell apart to stop the storm, it’s too well protected. I will need to try something else.” Philippa shoved a wet braid from her face as she made her way to the center of the deck of the ship. For to linger so closely to the edge of the ship while trying to cast would more than likely end with her tumbling overboard.

“Well hurry!” Coral shouted, dodging a piece of debris which had been torn from the ship and hurled at her.

The excessive creaking and cracking sound coming from the mast did not put Philippa’s mind at ease, especially since she was now standing just below it. But she could not allow her concentration to be broken by fear. No, she needed to stabilize the ship lest they capsize or collide into another vessel. She needed to stabilize all of them just long enough for whomever it was responsible for this calamity to run out of strength.

With a shuddering breath, Philippa drew from the chaos she always felt no matter the circumstances. She extended her arms outwardly, palms facing the sea, and closed her eyes. The wind was a force of nature she had long since learned to control. It served her well to know just how to shift it to her advantage, mainly so she didn’t have to exert her energy while flapping her wings as much. Creating updrafts which allowed her to glide effortlessly through the sky. She made a note to herself to brag about how her laziness had come in handy for something, the next letter she wrote to Tissaia. 

For now, she would attempt to use that skill to soften the gusts which threatened to shred their sails and feed everyone to the raging seas. She cast a ward across the bow of the ship, forcing the wind there to stop its battering. Yet the other ships had no such protection. 

“Phil, we’re losing ships!” Coral shouted from the helm. She had taken it from the helmsman, using all of her strength to keep it under control. She wasn’t steering the ship in any direction. No, the only thing she could focus on was to keep it from lurching sideways and being pulled under. 

Philippa looked to the rest of the fleet. Coral was right, ships were sinking left and right. She could not save them all. “Then we must make that sacrifice!” she answered, repeating what her Rectoress had taught her many decades ago. 

A swell of mist rolled onto the ship, heavy with magic. It broke apart the shield Philippa had cast, smothering the threads of chaos with its own. Furious, Philippa threw a concentrated flurry of energy at it, causing it to disperse. She saw the dark waves again, never having felt such relief upon the sight of the sea. Reaching for the sky, she channeled her magic upwards, then balled her fist and drew it down into a protective barrier around the entire ship. 

“Keep us from capsizing!” she yelled to Coral. “This won’t last long.” 

Her energy was already being drained to near emptiness by the substantial spell and the constant waves of chaos rolling across and against it from the storm. Whoever was casting this storm had access to much greater reserves than she. 

Nilfgaard practiced forbidden magic. This, Philippa knew, and she suspected it to be the cause for the storm as well as the seemingly never ending assault. Gasping, she felt her shield falter and blink out of existence. She fell onto her knees, fighting both the urge to empty her stomach and the unconsciousness that crept up on her. 

Coral shouted a warning, but her voice was a blur in Philippa’s ears. Wood and rope creaked around her as the storm tore away at the ship. It was terrifying, and Philippa no longer cared about the fate of the other ships, only about the one she was on. She had not felt true fear in years, yet now it paralysed her. She was too drained and sluggish to react to Coral’s warning shout. A chunk of the ship’s board was torn off by the gale, hurtling towards the exhausted mage. 

It hit her in the ribs with a force great enough to throw her backwards, into the hull of the ship, near the bow. Stars danced in her vision when she hit her head against the planks and she felt blood run warmly over her skin where the wood had hit her. The torrent of water that came down upon her cut off her breath, gushing into her mouth and nose as it threatened to drown her. Philippa desperately gasped for air, tasting salt and bile in her mouth. This was a disgraceful way for any sorceress to die, in a pile of splintered wood, drowned in the storm, choking like a fish out of the water. 

Then the rain lessened and she could breathe again. Philippa inhaled greedily, then frowned, because the storm hadn’t eased at all. If anything, it was even darker than before. A warm hand reached for her collar and shook her. A voice reached her ears, familiar and desperate. 

“Philippa! Phil, answer me!” 

Coral. 

“We… we’re going to sink, love,” Philippa whispered. 

Arms wrapped around her, keeping her steady against the deck. The mast broke, pieces flying off in all directions as it crashed onto the helm. Coral grunted above her while splinters pierced her armour at its weakest points. Her yellow eyes seemed to glow in the darkness as she bent closer to Philippa. 

“I know,” she whispered back. “This ship will break in two, the helm and bow will both go up. I’ve seen it before, it’s what these ships are made to do when they sink. When that happens, we must swim.” 

A wave crashed over the ship, bringing with it an unearthly creaking of wood as it tore into the planks. Coral cursed, pushing herself and Philippa closer to the deck as the bow swiveled. “No, no! _Fuck_ , we’re going sideways, Phil. We’re not tipping up!” 

Philippa had never heard true panic in Coral’s voice, but it was there now. She had no time to answer, because the next thing she knew was that they were swung from the broken bow of the ship and thrown into the icy seas. The water closed around her, suddenly still despite the storm raging above. She wanted to swim, but her arms would not move. 

A dark figure appeared before her as the air left her lungs. Red hair framed against the flash of lightning. The silvery shape of Coral’s chestplate and the lumps of her armour sank into the blackness below them as she tugged it off so it wouldn’t weigh her down. 

Grabbing Philippa by the hem of her dress, she dragged the limp sorceress to the surface. The sea coiled around them, waves twisting and churning. There was barely any sign of the fifty ships that had sailed an hour prior. All had been consumed by the sea, leaving only a few pieces of splintered wood here and there. 

The clouds began to break apart, magic no longer threading them together into a storm. Coral drew in a breath she hadn’t noticed she was missing. Wrapping her left arm securely around Philippa, she scanned the horizon for any signs of land. There was a stripe of black, so far off that even her witcher eyes had trouble discerning it from the waves around her. But it was her only chance. 

Before that day, Coral never knew that her endurance had its limits. Her strength, yes. There were things even she could not lift. But never before had she felt so utterly tired. Her arms burned from both swimming and keeping Philippa adrift. She had no potions to strengthen herself with and every breath burned in her chest. But where the coast had been a stripe on the horizon, it was now seemingly within her reach. 

Tangles of seaweed brushed against her legs, the strands of kelp threatening to entangle her. She reached down, with hands so numb from the cold that she was hardly able to feel if they were still attached to her wrists, and struggled to free herself as a slick rope knotted around her ankle.

Her mouth filled with salt water, which she spit out in between breaths, as she gazed up at the sky. Her arms had only had enough strength to hold Philippa above water and tug her along as she tried to remain buoyant on her back, kicking with legs which had begun to cramp severely.

“I won’t let the sea claim you, Lady Owl. You belong to the land,” she choked into Philippa’s ear. Uncertain if her lover was able to hear her, nor if she was even alive at this point.

“It could claim me, if it wanted,” she paused to take in a few breaths before she continued to swim. “My spirit would search the depths for my bardiche which was taken in the wreck,” she somehow managed a half-hearted chuckle.

She drew in breath after breath as her eyes began to burn, and not from the harshness of the seawater. It was the lack of response from her lover, it was that she had been defeated. It was everything.

So lost in her thoughts was she that the feeling of jagged stone mixed with sand hardly registered as it scraped against her heel while she kicked. With a gasp, she struggled to stand upright, lurching forwards and to the side in a most undignified way at the behest of a wave, before falling back into the water.

Coral was entirely too weary and numb to do anything more than half drag and half crawl up the shoreline, with Philippa limp in her arms. The waves crashed over her back, cold and uncaring. None of that mattered, however, as she had made it. Just enough to have honored her promise to her lover to return her to the land.

She fell to her knees once her legs had no more left to give and lowered Philippa to the beach. She was in no state to calculate whether the tide was rushing in, or fading back. All she could do was to hope that she had brought them far enough ashore in order to avoid being dragged back to sea at high tide. A sluggish grin appeared on her face before exhaustion and darkness took her and she fell into the rocky sand, just beside her lover.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I (braz) think that Coral's theme is one of the best tracks I've written for the fic!  
> I tried to make it authentic and folksy, and with some imitations of old Scandinavian string instruments and bagpipes. The first half of it radiates that smuggy smugness of Coral, as well as her softness for Philippa. Then the second half is more of an action theme. 
> 
> Also, the angelfish tattoo is… a thing… like Coral actually has one in canon. We kept it for witcher!Coral because it seemed such a dumb but funny thing.


	25. Chapter 25

[Greypaws](https://soundcloud.com/user-100350749) · [Still Waters Chapter 25](https://soundcloud.com/user-100350749/still-waters-chapter-25)

_(Narration by Greypaws!)_

* * *

Every inch of her body was numb, Philippa noticed as she shifted uncomfortably on a bed of something she could not recognize. She cracked her eyes open, blinking against the sun which shone directly overhead. They burned beyond redemption so she closed them for a few moments as she tried to remember what had happened.

A storm, that much she could recall. She could still taste the magic of it on her tongue and still felt the sting of the defensive mechanism which had arced through her body. Never before had she used so much of herself in order to save anyone. To save Coral.

An image of Coral holding her flashed through her mind, red hair clinging to her face as the tempest threatened to devour them. She attempted to turn on her side so she could right herself, but was overcome by an intense pain which shot through her ribs. She clutched at it as a sharp cry escaped her lips. Her fingers dug into wet sand as she tried to prop herself up, holding her other arm tight against her injury in the hopes she could somehow lessen the pain.

She was bleeding, that much she could tell by the viscous nature of that which trickled from the gash. In an attempt to call out for the witcher, she drew in a breath. Her lungs revolted at the notion and she found herself coughing, which caused a shock of intense pain to shoot through her side once again and then travel throughout her body. Everything hurt, but nothing as much as not knowing where her lover was.

“Coral?” she rasped, trying to focus. Her vision was clouded and it felt as if she had sand in her eyes.  _ “Coral?” _ she repeated, her tone becoming increasingly more desperate.

Panic set in, deep within her bones, as she blinked away the sand enough to allow her a glimpse of a shape laying next to her. It was a familiar shape, and an unmoving shape. As weak as she was, she stretched an arm out in an attempt to rouse the woman. A dizziness overtook her and Philippa soon found her forehead pressed into the sand, unable to summon the strength it took to sit up in even the slightest amount.

The sun continued to beat down on her and she found herself slipping into the comforts of it’s seemingly mocking embrace. Falling into a state of delirium, she wondered if the sun had been laughing at her from behind those clouds as she tried and failed. Had she the strength, she would have had more to say about it. Instead, she found herself closing her eyes and giving in to the fatigue.   
  


~~~

Coral was fairly certain that she had breathed in a pound of sand, by the time she opened her eyes. That was what it felt like, at the very least. Rolling onto her side, she felt a wave of sickness washing over her. Sickness, cold. Things she had not felt since her witcher trials. And here she was, lying on the beach while the water lapped at her already soaked boots. 

It was dark. Night, since she could see the pale moonlight reflecting off the wet sand. Groaning, Coral dug her fingernails into the sand and pushed herself to her hands and feet. She almost collapsed again, digging a pit the size of her palm as she swayed to one side. But she was a witcher of the bear school. She had to have the strength to survive, always. 

“Phil?” she whispered, her voice a hoarse croak. “Phil, love, where-” 

She fell silent when she saw the motionless shape of the sorceress in the sand beside her. Before she could crawl over, Coral felt herself sagging back into the sand, onto her side. At least she could face the sorceress in this way. Her hands were covered in wet granules of sand, and she wiped one of them on the drenched leather of her trousers before she reached out to Philippa’s face.    
  


Brushing wet tresses of dark hair out of the sorceress’ eyes, Coral frowned. Her skin was so pale and cold, despite the soft puffs of breath she felt against her hand. She knew that her own body could cool much more without it being lethal, but despite her considerable magical abilities, Philippa was only human. 

“Don’t worry, love,” Coral said as she rested a hand on the unconscious woman’s shoulder. “I won’t let you get cold.” 

It took her all of her concentration to form the right shape with her hand and bring it down hard enough to bundle some chaos between her fingers. Her digits hit the sand with a wet sound, a few wayward sparks fluttering upwards. Coral hissed between her teeth and repeated the sign. Again and again, until finally a successful igni alighted the sand between her and Philippa, providing a brief flash of warmth. But it wasn’t enough, so she did it again. For minutes, until the sand was both dry and warm. Until black spots danced before her eyes and the exhaustion took her once again. 

When she woke once more, the sand was cold and daylight shone unpleasantly brightly into her eyes. Her legs felt stiff and painful from lying in one position for so long. A vague outline of the igni sign was still burnt into the sand between her and Philippa, causing a relieved breath to leave Coral’s lungs. She hadn’t dreamed what had conspired before. Philippa was still there, still alive. Unconscious, but alive. 

Then, a woody rattling reached Coral’s ears. It was likely the reason she had woken up in the first place. A shrill little cry followed, irritating the witcher more than anything. She pushed herself up on her elbows, squinting against the light as she scanned the scope of the dunes where they laid close to. A little road ran before them. Rotting wooden planks and cobblestones, in the process of being buried by the ever moving sand. On that road, an equally shabby fisherman’s cart was being pulled by a single horse. 

Where they had landed, Coral hardly cared to know at this point. All that mattered was that somehow they had made it ashore. She huffed as the fisherman spurred his horse on, glancing over his shoulder at the pair as he sped away. Not that she blamed him, for she knew she must be quite the sight to behold. She was still unable to lift herself enough to sit upright, her fiery hair was filled with sand, bits of kelp and whatever else it may have captured along the way. Not to mention that there was another woman next to her, passed out cold. The fisherman more than likely thought they had spent a few wild nights on the beach, and wanted little to do with that.

Coral groaned and laid back down onto the sand. She ran her tongue over her dry and cracked lips. Instinctively, she reached for her waist line, where her belt would have held her water pouch, only to be immediately reminded of the fact that she had to abandon everything but her light underclothing.

She rolled her head to the side and watched Philippa as she took a few slow and shallow breaths. They could stay here no longer, they were already dehydrated enough as it was, but the sun seemed especially fierce today. Her face twisted into a frown as she pushed herself on her side, then rolled to her stomach. She lay there for a few seconds to allow the spinning sensation in her head to settle before pushing herself up onto her elbows and then onto her knees.

The cramping she had felt during the swim had not subsided and she beat her fist against the back of her calf to try and work out the knot which had formed deep in her muscle. She wouldn’t have been surprised to discover that the sand had somehow made its way into there as well.

After taking a few minutes spent wobbling from side to side on her knees while she attempted to stretch her back and neck, she drew a leg up and firmly planted the bottom of her foot into the sand. With all of her strength, she pushed herself up onto shaky legs, catching herself before she stumbled forwards and back into the sand.

“How undignified,” she muttered to herself as she tried to balance. It felt as if she were learning to walk for the first time. She winced as she both heard and felt a loud popping sound emanate from her hip.

With the greatest of care, she staggered over to Philippa and knelt down next to her. She brushed a few dark strands away from her eyes and then cautiously slipped her arms beneath her, pulling her close to her body and holding her tight against her chest. Her lover’s body was freezing cold, despite the amount of sun which shone down on them.

_(Art by Greypaws!)_

As she took her first ungainly steps towards the wooden planks, intent on following the path the fisherman had taken in the hopes that there was a coastal town nearby, she pressed her lips against Philippa’s temple. “I’ll get us there, don’t worry my Lady Owl.” 

There was indeed a small town at the end of the road. A clump of houses with as many boats in its harbour, all gathered around a square with an inn and remnants of a market that stank like fish in the warm sun. As Coral kicked against the tavern door to open it, she felt her head pound, a stinging sensation working its way up from her temples into her forehead. 

The darkness of the interior was soothing to her eyes and her sharpened sight quickly adjusted. As she walked up to the counter, she scraped with her thigh against a table, once again reminded of how out of it she was. The bar was empty, causing her to look around in irritation, trying to figure out why it was so silent. 

In the doorway to the kitchen, she saw several wide pairs of eyes looking at her. A clutter of young kitchen assistants and barmaids stared with fear in their eyes at the towering woman she knew she was. Coral swallowed, seemingly needing to get rid of a mouthful of sand before she could speak. 

“Fifty ships sank before the coast,” she said in a voice that was still mostly gravel. “The battle of Marnadal… we were supposed to fight in it.” 

“The - the battle was lost,” one of the kitchen staff stuttered. “Queen Calanthe rode back to Cintra with the few survivors, may the gods save her. King Eist, dead. Bodies have been washing up on our shore for days, since the storm.” 

For a few moments, Coral did not know what to do or say. The King of Skellige was dead, the battle lost, Nilfgaard surely advancing upon the city and there was nothing that she could do about any of it. “I… She needs help,” she mumbled, nodding to Philippa in her arms. “The shipwreck took everything I had, but we can pay you when she has the magic to summon Redania’s riches again.” 

Neither of them looked like the court mage of Redania or a witcher of the bear school, Coral knew. But her yellow eyes seemed to be enough to convince the people of the inn, since they nodded hastily and guided her upstairs with nervous footsteps and faces. Water was heated and they soon brought her towels, washcloths and a loose robe. 

It was difficult to let Philippa go, after everything that had happened. But people were usually fairly direct in their hatred of witchers and mages, and she hadn’t seen much of it in this inn. Besides that, she should have been the saviour of these people, their city and their kingdom as a whole. Instead there had been the storm, all the ships had sank along with their soldiers. The entire reinforcements of Skellige, now at the bottom of the sea. 

Coral groaned as she sat back in a chair beside the bed in the room they had been offered. Her head still pounded and she could feel the ache of many scrapes and cuts all over her body. She had half a mind to reach for the provided jug with water and drink its contents without bothering to ask for a glass. Yet before she could do that, the exhaustion overwhelmed her. She felt her eyes close and decided not to fight it. Her wet hair hit the back of the chair, blissfully clean, as she allowed herself to pass out. 

~~~

Philippa awakened to a moonbeam which shone brightly through tattered drapes hanging loosely in front of the window of… wherever it was she lay. She turned away from it, for even the softest the moon had to offer was too harsh for her at the moment.

Her hands grazed against the rough texture of a cloth healing wrap which had been applied to the injury to her side. A heavy, earthen scent mixed with a sweetness that only the finest healing herbs carried, hung in the air. She exhaled a breath she had been holding, in anticipation of the excruciating pain she had expected to be there if she even so much as moved an inch. Yet nothing of the sort happened as she shifted ever so slightly. Whatever natural compress the healer, who had undoubtedly treated her while she was still unconscious, had used was working well to numb the pain.

Propping herself up on her side was still no easy task, but she did it in order to try and ascertain just where she was, and if her lover was near as well.

“Coral?” her voice trembled as she called out for the witcher.

A few moments of quiet passed before she repeated the call. Anxiety grew in the pit of her belly as she tried to recall the last time she had seen her. On the beach… had she dreamt it? She squeezed her eyes shut as the memory of the storm resurfaced. It wasn’t something she wanted to think about right now, when she knew not where her lover was.

The muscles in her throat constricted as she called out for Coral another time. But finally, an answer came to her. It was in the form of a low, rumbling snore. One only a bear could be capable of. A scratchy reply followed.

“Phil?”

Coral pushed herself from the chair she had fallen asleep in and stumbled to the side of the bed in which Philippa rested. She reached for the jug of water on the table next to her and poured it into one of the clay mugs provided.

“Drink,” the witcher said as she held the cup to her lips, slipping an arm behind Philippa’s back in order to help her sit up. “You need it.”

“So do you,” Philippa replied almost breathlessly after she had downed the water. “Another,” she demanded. Never before had anything tasted as heavenly as the lukewarm water she was consuming from a cup held steady by strong hands.

Coral drank the rest of the water directly from the jug once Philippa had enough and was laid back against a pillow which was far too flat for her liking. Flat pillows were to be expected from an inn of low quality.

“Marnadal… “ Coral started as she set the empty jug back down onto the table, wiping the corner of her mouth with the back of her hand.

“Was lost.” Philippa responded solemnly.

“You know?”

“I guessed.”

“King Eist is dead, Calanthe has returned to Cintra with what little army was left.” Coral laid next to Philippa on the bed. She let out a shuddering breath as she felt the warmth once again radiating from her lover’s soft skin.

Philippa felt the fires of rage ignite inside of her veins. It wasn’t as if it surprised her to know that Cintra’s defenses had fallen, not after she’d felt the power of the storm Nilfgaard had crafted in order to stop Skellige from sending aid to the kingdom. She couldn’t help but feel as if the reason they had failed so miserably was because she had underestimated Nilfgaard and what their sorceresses and sorcerers were capable of. The lengths that they were willing to go to, and the amount of chaos they had exploited in order to win was astounding.

“I failed.”

“No… Phil, you did not fail. You made a sacrifice, just as you told me you needed to do on the deck of that sinking ship. We are  **_alive_ ** because of you. We can fight again  _ because of you. _ This next battle, _ we will be prepared.” _

Philippa rolled to her side and made her way closer to Coral, who then carefully pulled her flush against her muscular body. Only once her ear rested against the center of the witcher’s chest, was she content. The slow rhythm of Coral’s heartbeat had always been a comfort to her, ever since the very first night she had sought her out.

Philippa found that she nearly choked as overly emotional words spilled from her lips before she could even take a proper breath. “I thought I would never hear it again, your heartbeat.” 

Coral brought her arms around Philippa, engulfing her in a strong embrace. “And I thought I would lose you in that storm.”

Her lover's voice was so soft, and so full of care. Philippa found that she could only live in the moment for now, even if that moment was fleeting.

After a period of time had passed, the sorceress admitted to the truth they both knew was the only option at this point. “We must go our separate ways in the morning.”

“I know,” the witcher replied as she held onto her tightly.   
  


“The rest of the Continent needs to formulate a new plan against the Nilfgaardian threat. While I can sense no other form of raw magic users in this vicinity, there is an herbalist here capable enough to mix potions. I can tell because I can’t feel any pain through the herbal compound which was applied to the broken ribs I know I’ve sustained. Come break of dawn I will seek them out and see if they have a few herbs I can use to bolster my magic just enough to create two portals. One for me to travel back to Aretuza and warn Rectoress de Winter, and one for you to go to… ” Philippa trailed off. Never before had she the inclination to tell Coral where she thought the witcher should go, unless it was to bed with her, but she certainly wasn’t going to start now.

“To Rinde. I must tell Tissaia of everything which has transpired. And perhaps I can convince Yennefer and the rest of the wolf pack that this… is important.”

Philippa chuckled against Coral’s chest. “You know the world is in shambles when you need to rely on the help of a mage with a broom up her ass, a completely useless wolf, and a Rectoress who has only slightly defrosted over the course of a few hundred years.”

“Yes, but at least we have each other,” Coral replied with a smirk.

“Such a romantic,” Philippa slurred into her chest as she felt the exhaustion creeping up on her again.

“I know,” Coral said casually before she too fell into a deep slumber.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sand... so much sand. We lost track of how many times we wrote the word sand.


	26. Chapter 26

[Greypaws](https://soundcloud.com/user-100350749) · [Still Waters Chapter 26](https://soundcloud.com/user-100350749/still-waters-chapter-26)

_(Narration by Greypaws!)_

* * *

“Tissaia!” Coral called out as she threw the door to the living room open. The spells around the sorceress’ house let her in, as she was one of the few people that Tissaia trusted so much to make an exception in her defenses. “Tissaia? Where the hell are you? You’re always up at first light!” 

She ran up the stairs to the first floor, ducking underneath the arched doorway to the bedroom in an old habit. Through the library, with Tissaia’s study in an adjoining room to the right and her bedchambers similarly to the left, both doorways shielded by a heavy green curtain instead of a door. Once Coral strode into the bedroom, she held still, chuckling in surprise and amusement at the sight she found. 

Tissaia, lying with her head on Yennefer’s chest, sound asleep. The wolf witcher’s hand cradled the side of her head while her eyes were half opened and glaring. 

“Wake up, Tissaia,” she softly said, not letting Coral out of her sight. “We have some odd company.” 

“Not odd, wolfie. Urgent,” Coral answered as Tissaia stirred and lifted her head from Yennefer’s body. 

The mage squinted, lifting a hand in Coral’s direction, chaos collecting between her fingers. While she was clad in a modest nightgown, Yennefer seemed to wear nothing at all. 

“It’s me, Tiss. Just me!” Waiting until the mage had put her hand down onto the blankets, which she pulled up a bit higher, Coral slowly approached. She sank to one knee by the bed, not being able to suppress a grin that slipped onto her face at Tissaia’s disgruntled expression. “Of all the witchers you could have let into your bed, why that one?"

“Why are you here, Astrid?” Tissaia asked, swallowing and rubbing in her eyes. “Last I heard, Philippa and you were heading to Cintra to ascertain the Nilfgaardian threat.” 

“Cinta has fallen, or will fall very soon. I’m here to warn y-” 

Tissaia sat upright in the blink of an eye, her expression darkening as she lifted a hand and pointed a sharp finger at Coral. “You should be defending the city!” 

Setting her jaw, the bear witcher sighed and turned her eyes to the floor. She felt shame at how she had been defeated, even though she could not possibly have prevented any of it. “We never got to the city,” she mumbled. “The Skelligen fleet was sunk before we reached Marnadal. Their mages whipped up a storm. No survivors but Philippa and me.” 

“And where is Philippa now?” 

  
“Aretuza.”

Nodding, Tissaia lifted a hand to her forehead and let her eyes close for a few moments, gathering herself before rising from the bed. She wiped her hair out of her face and looked at the two witchers, one in her bed, one still kneeling next to it. “I’m going to bathe, then we can speak about what to do. I know Philippa well enough, she has surely already informed our king. Yennefer, don’t… make a racket with her, please.” 

After watching Tissaia enter her bathroom and shut the curtain behind her, Coral turned to Yennefer with a bemused smirk, despite the situation. “You look like you don’t have much racket in you, wolfie. Haven’t said a word, have you?” 

“Well, I can’t help but be impressed by my dear sorceress,” Yennefer said with a grin of her own. “What do you think she will instruct us to do?” 

“What her rectoress and my own mentors once said, and what I hope yours said too, in Skellige. Witchers and sorcerers are the two defenses of the Continent. Unbound to a country, only loyal to their own order and the land we protect. Maybe it’s time we band together.” 

Yennefer sat up, uncaring just how much of herself the bear witcher saw, as she fished around the side of the bed for the shirt she had tossed on the floor in haste, the night prior. “ _ Oh? _ And why should we band together in order to save the Continent. It isn’t as if any of its inhabitants actually give a damn about us.”

“You weren’t there, Yennefer. You didn’t see what they did in order to stop us from aiding Cintra. It wasn’t right, it was an abomination, they mean to control everything!” Coral argued as the other witcher tugged the loose shirt over her head.

The wolf witcher then slipped from the covers of Tissaia’s bed and made her way to a pair of long undergarments which were slung over the back of a chair. Yennefer scoffed as she put them on. “I’m sure Nilfgaardian gold is just as good as everyone else’s.”

“And just what is that supposed to mean, Yennefer?”

“It means, why should I give any fucks at all about the people of this Continent when the only thing they have ever done for me is look at me like they wish I were dead… just before they hire me to slay whatever monster it is which inconveniences them at the time.”

“Yes, yes, I know. I get those looks too, that doesn’t matter. But Nilfgaard isn’t just going to take over kingdoms and rule peacefully, and they don’t care about anyone else but their own.” Coral was becoming increasingly agitated as they spoke more about it.

Yennefer walked up to the taller woman, baring her teeth as she spoke. “I don’t want to get involved with this bullshit. You know what happened last time a witcher of my school mingled in human affairs, you told me yourself. Geralt got a child of surprise stuck to his ass and I have no desire to follow him into this crap.” 

“These are not just our affairs! They’re of everyone, and everything,” Coral said as she rose to her full height and stepped forward. “Nilfgaard depletes the land with their foul sorcery. If you don’t fight, you’ll be complicit!” 

“Did any of you listen to what I said?” Tissaia hissed in fury as she threw open the curtain of the bathroom and marched into the chamber, her hair tucked up into a neat bun and her figure clad in a blue dress with silver filigree around the edges. “The last thing we can use now is infighting. We must act.” 

“Yes, let’s act. Let’s get away from here before all hell break loose.” Yennefer softened her voice as she turned to Tissaia. “I own a cabin, in the Kestrel Mountains. We can go there, sit it out until… until you do whatever you need to do.” 

Long ago, she had thought Tissaia’s face to be unreadable in these tense moments. But Yennefer had learned since, faster now that she was the woman’s lover. She saw the sharp intake of breath, quiet as it was. She saw the tensing of Tissaia’s stomach beneath her dress, the minute tilt of her head and the way her eyes narrowed slightly. “There is much I need to do,” the sorceress said. “I must correspond with the Chapter and the Rectoress, to plan a meeting as soon as we can. I am not a court mage, but I expect that my king will need me to be present when we discuss sending Redania’s army south.” 

“No reason you can’t go with me to the cabin while you magic away letters and-” 

“I know, Yenna. Let me think,” Tissaia said with a lift of her right hand. She ran her tongue over her dry lips as she continued: “A few days, then. De Winter’s correspondence is never slow. I will write to her, to Philippa, to Vanielle, if she will receive anything.” 

Coral frowned. “Your friend, in Nilfgaard?” 

“Court mage. Talented, but not enough to keep her position. Last I heard from her was years ago, when her position as highest ranking mage had been taken by another. Fringilla Vigo, her name, I believe. There are others whose help I may be able to enlist. Triss and Sabrina, a few recent graduates of Ban Ard. And this… hot-headed young man. A newer member of the Chapter.  _ Ah _ , what was his name again?” Tissaia looked to the two witchers, but neither of them held any knowledge to the ever shifting roster of mages of the chapter. Then the corner of her mouth flicked as she remembered. “Vilgefortz, that was it. I am sure we can devise a plan to stop Nilfgaard.” 

“Hey, who said anything about devising a plan,” Yennefer said, practically being able to hear the way Coral rolled her eyes. 

When Tissaia turned to her, Yennefer already felt the dark blue eyes dismantling her complaints before the mage even opened her mouth. “What else is there to do, Yennefer? For me. You may get involved or not, to your own discretion. And intelligence.”

“I didn’t almost just die in order to almost die again,” Yennefer said as she made her way to the bathroom to relieve herself and wash up.

“While you are busy sticking your head in your ass, I will try to scout Nilfgaards movements. See how much time we have. Then I’ll return to Haern Caduch and see if I can get some recruits… speak with Forbes, see what she says..” Coral paced the room as she tried to think of other ideas. Planning wasn’t her strength, her muscle was her strength. Philippa was much better at strategizing and she wished her Lady Owl was with them now.

Tissaia pursed her lips as she gathered supplies for their journey. An image flashed through her mind. That of burning buildings and stores being looted. She suppressed a shudder as she envisioned the Nilfgaardian army marching through Rinde, taking and destroying whatever they wished for along the way.

“You must try and convince her, Tiss,” Coral said quietly. “We need everyone, even her. All of the most powerful people must come together for this. Calanthe is a true warrior, but if she was sent hobbling back to Cintra with most of her forces defeated, there isn’t much time left. They can only hold for so long, if they haven’t completely fallen already.”

“I am aware, but I cannot speak for her. She must make her own decisions,” she uttered back as she pulled open her travel pack and began filling it with the items she had already gathered. 

“You could always persuade her, you know, in other ways… “ Coral returned with a smug grin, lifting her eyebrows as she nodded towards the bed.

“I heard that,” Yennefer said as she emerged from behind the curtain. “Don’t think I’m as driven by what is between my legs as you are, Coral.”

The bear witcher let out a drawn out sigh and then shrugged. “Fine, but when the Continent is on fire and everything is drowning in chaos, remember you only have yourself to blame. I, on the other hand, have much to do.”

Yennefer replied with nothing more than a sneer as she slipped on her light leather boots having, washed with the warmed water Tissaia had left for her in the bathroom, then dressed in the neatly folded clothes the sorceress had laid out for her as well. Her lover seemed to have a way of making every task highly efficient.

“I can open a portal for you when you are ready, but do eat something before you leave. You look exhausted and hungry. I have plenty of dried meats and fruits for you to take as well, and potions, that too.”

  
  


Coral hummed thoughtfully, tapping a finger against her mouth a few times before a grin spread across her lips. “And your spice cabinet? Can I take a few things from there as well?”

Tissaia was astounded to hear the bear witcher ask at all, as Coral was the type to freely help herself, then tell you about it later. Not that she minded, though it did perturb her that she left a mess behind everywhere she went. It was truly as if a bear had gotten into her cabinets sometimes. Yennefer was no better, however, and she had long since surmised that it was a witcher way of life. 

After making her way through Tissaia’s pantry, spice cabinet, and potion shelves, Coral assured her that she was ready to depart and requested a portal to be opened for her. She needed it to open a considerable distance south of Cintra, so she could sneak up north and witness the state of the kingdom with her own eyes.

“Be careful,” Tissaia cautioned her. “Should you become captured… “

Coral interrupted her, rolling her eyes in the process. “Yes, yes… I know, I’ll be on my own. I don’t plan on getting that close, just enough to see for myself. Then I’ll head to the Bear Keep. Surely I can get more recruits once I describe everything in detail. I’ll be certain to let them know the wolves are hiding in their dens.” She shot a look at Yennefer before Tissaia’s portal burst into existence and she stepped through it.

A silence lingered, heavy in the air, for a short period of time after the portal had closed. Yennefer shook her head as she stuffed some clothing in her own pack, frustrated at the fact that it always seemed something was working against her. Especially when it came to matters involving her own happiness.

“I have obligations to my people, to assess the threat and act accordingly. I do not expect anything from you in this, Yenna. I only urge you to consider what the outcome could be should you choose not to act. Are you afraid?” the sorceress asked plainly.

Yennefer looked to Tissaia and found her blue eyes meeting her own, her expression seemed neutral, yet sincere. Her stomach twisted and she felt her pulse increase slightly. “Afraid of dying? No… I’ve almost done that more times than I can even count.”

“Then, of what?” Tissaia asked.

“Getting involved in something which isn’t my business in the first place,” she stated before lowering her voice. “Losing you.”

Tissaia set her pack on the table, briefly gesturing into the air, upon which the rest of her luggage began to assemble itself from various corners of the house. Then she looked at Yennefer, her blue eyes honest but saddened. Her mouth twitched this way and that, as she did when she was nervous. “I understand that. I’m… I don’t want to lose you, too. And I don’t want you to lose me either. But the time where I could hide in the manor’s library and ignore the outside world is over. If I do not do what I was taught to do, now, I may not have the time to do so at all.” 

It was such simple logic, but so absolute. Yennefer could not find any loose ends on it, so she sighed. “Yes, I know. However, until you need to go somewhere, we’ll stay at my cabin. The view is beautiful. It’s up on the slope of the Chiava, where the woods are a mixture of broadleaf and evergreen firs.” 

“I will need a landmark, Yennefer,” Tissaia said with a faint smile. “The Chiava is a large mountain.” 

“There’s a signpost nearby, indicating how far it is to Poviss. Would that do? I’ll carry your packs.” 

Nodding, Tissaia closed her eyes and focussed. The air turned static as a portal swirled into being. She gestured for Yennefer to go first, taking a look at her house before following the witcher. She had the suspicion that she would not see it in quite some time. 

On the mountain slope, she was briefly in awe of the landscape. The sun was half hidden behind the clouds, yet the greenery was vibrant and lush. It was difficult to believe there was a war looming. “Why do you own this place?” she asked Yennefer as they walked off the road and along a clear, quietly streaming brook. 

“It’s just a cabin,” Yennefer replied with a shrug. “It’s for when I have no contracts for a while and Kaer Morhen is too far away. Or for when I just want to be… alone.” 

Before Tissaia could inquire further, because she heard in Yennefer’s voice that she had likely never shared the cabin with anyone, the woods suddenly parted and revealed an open meadow. The slope was fairly steep, with the sharp stone peak of the Chiava rising high and grey into the sky. Here, the forest ended, giving way to low-growing pines in clusters amongst wildflowers and bushes. 

They left the brook behind them, walking further into the meadow to the cabin. It seemed such an idyllic place, and Tissaia wondered whether Yennefer had stumbled upon it by chance on a hunt, or whether she had specifically sought it out. 

The cabin itself was a sturdy log cabin, built from dark pine wood. Resin stains still showed on the barkless stems of the outer logs, though Tissaia could see that it was well built. It had a little porch on which Yennefer set the packs of luggage before opening the door. She grinned as she turned to Tissaia, who was a bit cautious of the loose planks outside. “I need to replace some of the roof, get new glass for one of the windows and fix the porch, but the fireplace is ready to be lit and I think it’s mostly dry inside. I’m sure I have plenty of time to do that soon. Welcome to my lowly crib, oh sorceress.” 

  
_ Ever the insufferable witcher _ , Tissaia thought, though she smiled as she followed Yennefer inside the cabin.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Plot things are happening!   
> Predictions on the last 3rd of the story are very welcome!


	27. Chapter 27

[Greypaws](https://soundcloud.com/user-100350749) · [Still Waters Chapter 27](https://soundcloud.com/user-100350749/still-waters-chapter-27)

Tissaia stretched and then rolled to her side, curling up against Yennefer’s body and resting her head against her chest. The witcher’s body was much warmer than usual, after having leached off of her heat the entire night. It was something Tissaia found she didn’t mind at all. Nor did she mind the fact that Yennefer’s heart beat at a slow and calming rhythm. She’d awakened a few times throughout the night, as the mattress in the cabin was both much smaller than she was used to, and uncomfortable. It’s steady pace lulled her back to sleep and she was thankful that Yennefer was such a heavy sleeper and hadn’t noticed she was listening to it.

What she did mind, however, was the drop of cold water which suddenly landed on her temple then ran down her face. It carried a foul scent with it and she shot upright in the bed immediately, wiping the disgusting water from her face with the back of her hand.

Yennefer cracked an eye open and then groaned. “Mmmph… come back, you’re taking all of the heat with you,” she mumbled as she reached out with one hand in a clumsy attempt to pull Tissaia back under the covers with her, pouting when the sorceress simply frowned and shook her head.

“What’s wrong?” Yennefer asked, just as a drip of cold water fell from the ceiling and landed on her bare chest where Tissaia’s head had been formerly resting comfortably. “Oh…” Yennefer said as she watched another drip grow between the joints of the rough-cut lumber planks. It soon grew heavy enough to fall and landed on her chest again, as she made no effort to move.

“You need to fix your roof, Yenna. And move the mattress out of the way until you do so. I’ll not be using my magic to dry it out later. In the meantime, I’m going to wash and get dressed. You should consider doing the same,” she said, looking over her shoulder as she swung both of her legs along the side of the bed and stood. She still smelled the disgusting scent of rainwater mixed with whatever dirt and grime had settled on the top of the cabin roof. She found it appalling that Yennefer would just continue to sit there as the water leaked on her.

It had been a tiring first day in the cabin, because although it carried a certain kind of rustic charm, it was very clear that Yennefer had not been maintaining it over the years. More than likely it was due to the fact that she was hardly ever there, but also a contributing factor was that Yennefer was Yennefer.

Tissaia had nearly choked on the air as she first set foot into it’s dark interior. A layer of dust seemed to linger in the air, then redistributed the moment they stepped inside and began to stir it up. Cobwebs had collected in the corners and it appeared that a wild creature had been chewing on part of the wall.

It wasn’t the clean environment she needed in order to begin her work of garnering support in defense of the Continent, and so they spent most of their time cleaning years of heavy layers of dust and mold from the interior of the cabin. Enough so she could at least write a few letters before the day had completely expired.

So to be awakened in such a manner was more than irritating, to say the least. Especially as the witcher continued to lay there as if there wasn’t putrid water leaking all over her. After a few seconds of being on the receiving end of Tissaia’s very judgmental gaze, Yennefer sat up and tried to wipe the water from her scar laden chest with her hand, only to find it did nothing more than smear it across her skin.

After quietly chuckling, Yennefer yawned and stretched, her muscles on display all along her arms and chest. “Will you heat some water for a bath? You can draw it from the brook. I promise I’ll go into the woods to get planks for the roof, after breakfast.” 

Tissaia sighed, knowing it was as good of a promise as she could expect from Yennefer. And so, she indeed heated water in the wooden tub that was in the cabin, while Yennefer prepared them some breakfast from the bread and smoked sausage they had packed the day prior. 

Afterwards, Tissaia settled behind the small table by one of the front windows. It was just large enough to place several rolls of parchment, her inkwell and quills on, while also allowing her to create a point where all the letters sent to her house in Rinde would appear on. Once the spell for that had been finished, she put her quill onto the paper and began a letter to one of the advisors at Redania’s court. 

Yennefer walked by, an axe over her shoulder. She threw Tissaia a smile before opening the front door. “I think I’m starting to like having such a beautiful woman in my cabin,” she slyly said as she turned to the sorceress. 

As soon as Tissaia took a better look at Yennefer’s form, now illuminated by the sunlight, she gasped. The witcher wore nothing over her bronzed skin but a tunic that hung open, too much to be decent. It wasn’t tucked into her breeches at all, giving Tissaia more of a sight of her chest than she had anticipated. “You plan to go into the woods like that?” she asked, running her tongue over her dry lips. 

“There’s no one in the woods, Tissaia,” Yennefer replied as she moved a wedge of wood under the door so it would remain open. “Besides, I know you’ll have a fine view like this.” 

A fine view indeed. Tissaia sometimes found it hard to concentrate well on her letters, while Yennefer was splitting logs into rough planks outside on the meadow. Her pile of letters built just like Yennefer’s pile of wood. Some for the fireplace, some to repair the leaking roof. And every time Tissaia glanced over at her lover, she saw those strong arms ripple with the force of her axe swings. It distracted her, because she thought frequently of how those muscles, and the ones on Yennefer’s torso too, had felt under her hands. When the witcher climbed up on the roof to fix the leakage, it was almost a relief, if not for the fact that the noise from that was as distracting as the open shirt. 

As the day waned into the afternoon, Yennefer had taken care of the roof and announced that she was going to wash the worst of what had accumulated and decomposed on the roof off in the brook, before going to hunt something for dinner. Tissaia nodded in return, penning a few lines while Yennefer retrieved her crossbow. 

“I am mostly waiting for responses, now. We have the evening free,” she said, suppressing a laugh at how disheveled Yennefer was looking after her adventure on the roof. 

“Good, I have plenty of ideas,” Yennefer returned smugly. 

She returned an hour or two later with a roe deer over her shoulder and two woodgrouse in her hand. She butchered them in the meadow while Tissaia watched, carefully avoiding the rotted planks on the porch as she did so.

“Don’t worry I’ll fix that soon enough,” Yennefer said as she looked up at her lover with a fist full of plucked feathers. “I wouldn’t want you to fall through it and injure yourself.”

Tissaia allowed a smile to tug at the corners of her lips as she watched Yennefer cleaning her catch. Clearly she had been doing it her entire life and it was impressive to see how efficient she was at it, even if she was a complete mess. Which didn’t matter, Tissaia would draw her a bath and she would get cleaned up as she prepared dinner.

Her smile slowly faded as she realized that this was simply an illusion of serenity. For behind the swaying of the trees and the singing of the birds, a war was waging. One she knew she would be dragged into soon enough. She savoured a few more peaceful moments watching her lover as she portioned the meat and tossed the sections into a bucket before announcing that she would prepare a bath for Yennefer and start a fire for dinner.

There was more than enough meat for a few days and Tissaia was already looking forward to making a broth from the bone the following day. The prospect of cooking worked to distract her from everything else. It did not work to distract her from Yennefer after she had emerged from the bath and pressed a kiss against the back of her neck while she blended some herbs and spices she had brought with salt to make a seasoning for the grouse. Her dark hair tumbled over her shoulders, still damp from the bath, and the loose shirt she wore hung open as Yennefer didn’t seem to believe in tying them closed at the neck.

“Is there anything I can help with?” The witcher asked as she leaned against the small counter of the kitchen, watching Tissaia as she sprinkled both birds lightly with the blend she had just created.

“You can move over some? There isn’t much room in the kitchen… and you are being distracting.” Tissaia said, eliciting a chuckle from Yennefer.

“I’m distracting you, am I?” she said as she intentionally flexed her muscles more than was necessary to simply push herself off the counter, allowing Tissaia the additional space she had requested.

“You are always distracting, in one way or another.” she said as she unwrapped a bundle which contained some lard she had brought with her and placed it into the cooking pot which was already warming in the fireplace. She added a few sprigs of thyme and a bit of cooking wine she had packed as well, then covered it to allow everything to melt together before adding the birds.

“Is that why you were gawking at me all day? Don’t think I wasn’t aware of that fact,” Yennefer teased with a most smug look on her face.

“I was not gawking, Yenna. Would you hand me that linen satchel?”

Yennefer picked up the satchel which had been neatly placed on a small table by the entry to the kitchen area. She set it next to Tissaia but wasn’t quite done with the sorceress just yet. “Then what would you call it, hmm?”

“I was simply captivated by how hard you were working and was watching you from time to time. You are very efficient at splitting logs,” Tissaia added as she recalled the way her lover’s muscles flexed with every swing of the axe.

Yennefer raised an eyebrow and folded her arms across her chest. “Captivated… is that what you are going to call it?”

“Perhaps,” Tissaia smiled as she gently moved Yennefer aside, giving her bicep a gentle squeeze in the process. The witcher had once again positioned herself in the worst possible place in the small space, but Tissaia found that she didn’t mind.

She added both wood grouse to the pot and covered it, positioning it farther away from the fire in order to allow it to cook slowly. After washing her hands in a small bowl of water, she opened the satchel and emptied the wild berries she had collected from behind the cabin earlier onto the counter.

Yennefer’s eyes lit up and she casually walked over, then picked one up and tossed it into her mouth. “Perfectly ripened.”

“Not too many, I’ve plans to make a sweet glaze out of these. It will compliment the mild flavour of the grouse nicely.” Tissaia said. 

There was a lazy atmosphere in the cabin, blanketing everything along with the warmth of the hearth and the prospect of a good meal. It was how Yennefer always felt, whenever she came to her little hideaway, and she was very glad to have allowed Tissaia into the sanctuary as well. She savoured it, knowing she couldn’t stay forever. Both because of the war that was pulling at the edges of their minds and because eventually the tranquility would start to bore Yennefer. 

Not yet, however. Not while she stretched the roe deer skin onto a wooden standard to cure and dry, before measuring the rotten sections of the porch to see how much wood she would need to repair them. She took a quick look at the valley, frowning at the clouds that steadily rose from the river. They would get rain, that night. Yennefer hoped that the roof would hold, otherwise she would be woken by a very irritated sorceress once again. 

Said sorceress was peering at a letter, when Yennefer entered the cabin. The parchment was of fine quality, lighter than the kind Tissaia had been using to write on. An answer, Yennefer realized with a bitter taste in her mouth. 

“From who is that?” she asked, taking little care to hide the tone of her voice. 

“From the Rectoress,” Tissaia said, breaking the seal with the star of Aretuza on it. She unfolded the letter delicately, scanning over the contents and nodding slowly. “In two days, the Chapter will meet in Aretuza. Triss and Sabrina will be there. Vilgefortz too.” Her expression soured as she continued to read. “Artorius Vigo, Stregobor… Philippa will be absent, since she is still travelling from kingdom to kingdom to convince more rulers to send their forces south. We need a concrete plan to stop the Nilfgaardian army.” 

Yennefer’s expression matched Tissaia’s as she recognized one particular name from Geralt’s troubles in Blaviken. “And what if they don’t want to fight?” 

Her lover drew up an eyebrow as she folded the letter into a neat square and set it onto the table. “Do you think Philippa and I were allowed to meet up with Coral in Novigrad? Then in Poviss, Vizima, Beauclair even?” 

“I didn’t know you had that in you, oh proper, uptight sorceress,” Yennefer said with a smirk. “What’s this? A rebellious side to you?” 

“Before I had such responsibilities, perhaps. Now it’s merely a side that wants, no, needs to do what is right. I know I will get Aretuza’s support. De Winter has held her autonomy for more than three hundred years, and she will not be shoved aside by Nilfgaard so easily.” The faintest smile briefly tugged at the corner of Tissaia’s mouth, before she turned to the stove and retrieved the pan from the fire. “We should eat, Yenna. Poultry is best when it’s warm and fresh.” 

And Tissaia had not been wrong. The meat had been cooked and seasoned perfectly. Yennefer had always been impressed with the sorceress’ ability to cook a bird and not have the meat turn out dry, as was always the case with her own. Tissaia simply smiled and reminded her that it was all in being patient and not just throwing the meat into a fire until you had the inclination that it might be done.

Though the worry of what the war would bring sat at the forefront of her mind, Yennefer found it eased as they engaged in pleasant conversation while they dined. Occasionally a brush of a hand against an arm occurred, followed by a soft smile which caused a warmth to bloom in Yennefer’s chest. She hardly realized she had finished her meal until she went to take another bite and was disappointed to see there were only bones left on her plate.

Tissaia chuckled softly, noting the look of dismay on Yennefer’s face. “I’ll take these and use them to make a broth tomorrow,” she said as she took the plate to the small counter and began to empty the remains into a kettle.

“I’ll go fetch some water from the stream and help clean up,” Yennefer said as she stood and stretched. She smiled at the sight of Tissaia quietly organizing the kitchen, clearly preparing for tomorrow.

The air smelled of rain and Yennefer could see nothing but dense cloud coverage blanketing the sky. There was a dampness in the air and she felt a tiny droplet of water land on her cheek as she walked to the stream with a bucket in hand. As she filled the bucket, the rain began to increase and she watched the drops of water hit the surface of the stream. It was a calming rain for now, but she knew it would have the potential to become a downpour soon enough so she hurried with her task and strode back to the cabin.

Just as she set one foot onto the porch, she heard a crackling sound behind her and felt a buzzing of energy in the air. She dropped the bucket and turned around, curling her fingers into fists and bringing them up to her face. She was more than ready to fight whomever it was that was about to step through the portal swirling into existence before her.

Behind her, she heard the door to the cabin open and Tissaia’s light footsteps shuffle across the planks. Undoubtedly drawn outside by the pull of magic radiating from the portal. Yennefer’s hands fell to her side the moment she saw a familiar hulking shape with long white hair tumble through. 

“Geralt!” Yennefer rushed forward, helping him to his feet as he tried to catch his breath.

“Yen… I…” he heaved, clenching his sword tightly in his hand before bending over and picking up the bucket Yennefer had dropped. He greedily drank the rest of the water which was in it before it fell empty from his hand, landing on the ground with a thud.

His hair was a mess and his brow damp with sweat. There was a look in his yellow eyes which Yennefer had rarely seen. She could tell he had been fighting and there was ash or dirt smeared across his cheek.

“Are you alright? What happened? Where have you been?” she asked, realizing she needed to give him the chance to respond before asking any more questions.

“Cintra,” he said as he sheathed his sword. “I’m alright, but Yen I need your help.”

“Does no one understand that I have no interest in taking part in this cursed war?” Yennefer exasperated.

“This isn’t about that, not entirely,” he replied.

“Then what?” Yennefer did nothing to hide the irritation in her tone as she inquired.

“It’s about my child of surprise, Ciri. She’s been captured by Nilfgaardian soldiers and is being held prisoner by them in Cintra.”

Tissaia’s voice cut through the conversation, sharp and demanding. “Cintra has fallen then?”

“Yes, they could hold no longer against the assault.”

“And the Lioness of Cintra?” the sorceress asked.

Geralt shook his head no, saying nothing more about it. Tissaia announced she would need to prepare more correspondence and disappeared inside the cabin, leaving them alone in the rain.

“Wait… you mean to tell me that your child of surprise is the princess of Cintra?” Yennefer narrowed her eyes at him as the realization struck her.

“She is, and I need your help getting her out of there. Please, Yennefer,” Geralt pleaded with her, his eyes growing larger as his expression turned into a look of desperation.

Yennefer shook her head as she paced a few times, stopping to look at Geralt in disbelief before continuing to pace. Her foot met the bucket and she sent it hurtling into the brush as she loudly uttered the only word which seemed to come to mind, given the severity of the revelation.

“Fuck.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh hello there, Geralt.


	28. Chapter 28

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> WE'RE BACK!!   
> Hiatus is over, it was due to exams and illness. Not covid, but still.

[Greypaws](https://soundcloud.com/user-100350749) · [Still Waters Chapter 28](https://soundcloud.com/user-100350749/still-waters-chapter-28)

_(Narration by Greypaws!)_

* * *

“You know, I want to ask you “how”. How did someone like you get someone like  _ that _ as child surprise. And how did you even end up here?” Yennefer seethed, walking up to Geralt and prodding him in the chest to accentuate her words. 

“The castle’s druid portaled me here, just before he got captured as well. There were soldiers everywhere in the city, we couldn’t run from them.” Geralt looked behind him as the portal flickered out of existence. His sullen eyes focussed on Yennefer again. “I knew you’d have gone to your cabin. You have to help me, Yen.” 

Yennefer shook her head, about to head back into the cabin. “ _ You  _ abandoned your child of surprise and  _ I _ am not going to drag her out of the shit. I’ll have Tissaia portal you back.” 

Before she could set but a few steps, Geralt grabbed her arm. “I can’t do this alone, Yennefer. Please… I - I don’t want them to kill her because I barged into the camp and started slaying soldiers left and right. Yes, you’re allowed to think I’ve gone soft. But didn’t you have a moment like this too? When you decided to save me?” 

~~~

_ Yennefer grabbed the reins more tightly, spurring on the horse as she rode down the rocky mountain road. She regretted it when a bump in the path made a cramp shoot into her crooked shoulder, but even that did not matter so much, because when she sped down into the valley with the cart like this, she felt free. It was for a short time, only to buy some fresh vegetables and fruits from a market and bring them back to Kaer Morhen, but it was freedom nonetheless. Her purple eyes gleamed in the sunlight as she let go of a laugh.  _

_ Then she slowed, ushering the horse to a stop. There was movement beside the road, just a little up ahead. While she watched the witchers train with intense jealousy, even trying to copy their movements, she was not armed. She would stand no chance against a monster of any kind.  _

_ But what sat by the roadside was no monster, just a little boy with curly brown hair and teary eyes. He could be no older than ten. He was holding a rather large wooden bucket, still clutching at it when Yennefer got off the carriage and approached.  _

_ “What are you doing out here?” she asked. “Are you… alone?”  _

_ The boy nodded tearfully, hiccuping a few times before answering. “Ma told me to get some water for her, a-and when I was back, she was gone.”  _

_ Yennefer’s mismatched mouth drew itself into a frown. While she had heard no shortage of stories about how the various witcher trainees ended up in Kaer Morhen, leaving a child in the middle of the wilderness was something new to her. “If she went up the road to the Keep, I’d have run into her,” she mused. “But… maybe the older witchers will know what to do. I can bring you there, if you want.”  _

_ “Witchers?” the boy stammered, though he did let go of the bucket and grabbed the hand that Yennefer offered to drag him to his feet.  _

_ “You’ll see when we get there,” she said as she hoisted him into the carriage. It would be rather interesting to explain to Vesemir how she had gotten ahold of a child instead of the fruits and vegetables she had been sent out for.  _

~~~

“She’s just as alone as I was, Yen,” Geralt said. “The king and queen are dead, Cintra is burning.” 

“And like I’ve said to everyone else who keeps bringing that up, I’m not getting involved in this war and I’m not going to…” Yennefer’s sentence trailed off into a low, frustrated growl as she bit back the rest of what she wanted to say. He had asked her for very little over the years and never something of such great importance to him, if the expression of concern which he’d worn ever since stumbling through the portal was anything to go by.

“Had Cintra not fallen, I wouldn’t act on this. But as she is the sole heir, there is no getting out of this for her. When I evoked the Law of Surprise, our fates were bound together by destiny. There is no going back for me on this either. Trust me, Calanthe tried everything in her power to break that law but people linked together by destiny will always find each other.”

Yennefer sighed and sat on the edge of the porch, hiding her worry that if he were to go alone, fate would have them finding each other in a grave. “Destiny… of course. It’s always about destiny.”

“Will you help then?” Geralt said as he sat beside her, still casting a pleading look.

“How are we even supposed to get to her? Do you even know where she’s being held now?” Yennefer paused before mumbling under her breath, “And why am I even considering this?”

“There are ways to sneak into the castle through the underground tunnels, shouldn’t be too much trouble for the two of us to find a way in using a bit of brute force. As far as where she’s being held I’d guess she’s either locked in the tower her grandparents had kept her in during the war, or in the dungeons.”

Yennefer glanced down at her casual attire then rolled her eyes and stood. “I need to speak with Tissaia, then get into some armour and grab some weapons. I’m sure my dear sorceress has brought along plenty of potions which can help.”

As she entered the cabin she heard the scratching of quill against parchment as Tissaia sat prone at her desk. She was holding a letter which she closed with a spell before uttering an incantation. A ward sealed the correspondence before it was cast away to her intended recipient with another spell. A stack of neatly folded letters were sealed on her desk, which did not appear to be on the parchment the sorceress favoured. She was already receiving responses.

“Tissaia I need to speak with you,” Yennefer said as she slipped shamelessly out of her tunic and began to change into light leathers more suitable to wear beneath her armour.

The sorceress held up a finger as she broke the seal on one of her responses, she scanned over the contents as she turned to Yennefer. Her jaw clenched and she dropped the letter on her desk as she stood. “Philippa is gaining some support, but not enough. You are leaving,” she said without pause between subjects.

“Yes. I have to help Geralt get Ciri out of there.” Yennefer heard the stiffness in the tone of her voice, still displeased that she was being dragged into the matter.

“You are going to Cintra? Now, as nearly the entire Nilfgaardian army stands there. That is unwise, Yennefer.” Tissaia said as she furrowed her brow.

“I am aware, but since he won’t leave destiny well enough alone, I’ve no choice. I can’t let him go alone. We’ve only had each other growing up, he needs me in this," she said as she slipped her arms into the sleeves of a well weathered gambeson.

“I cannot go with you,” Tissaia said with a tense edge. She sighed as she walked over to Yennefer and aided her with fastening the buckles which secured her pauldrons. “But I did bring several potions and extracts which may be useful for you.”

Yennefer was oblivious to many things, but the way Tissaia avoided making eye contact with her was not one of them. “You’re upset,” she stated as she lifted Tissaia’s chin with her finger, noticing the way her jaw tensed.

The sorceress exhaled and closed her eyes for a moment. She shook her head as she opened them, her hand came to rest on the thick padding of Yennefer’s armour, just next to where her heart was beating ever so slowly in her chest. “I am, but not with you. I’m upset at the situation and I dislike feeling powerless and vulnerable.”

She leaned down and placed a kiss on the top of Tissaia’s head, humming as she did so. “I know, I don’t like it either but it seems that destiny, fate or whatever other cruel influence is responsible for this path we’ve been forced to take, doesn’t want us to get too comfortable just yet.”

“It would seem that way,” Tissaia said as she left Yennefer to finish with putting on her armour and donning her weapons, while she retrieved a leather pack she had filled with some of her most useful potions. 

She carefully placed the pack on the table then opened it in order to add some extra bandages. From a padded pouch on the inside, she pulled the most valuable bottle she had in her arsenal. It had garnered her quite a bit of fame in the highest alchemy circles when she had first discovered how to make it, though it had been some time since those days. The ingredients used to fashion the extract were rare and the process was time consuming and required extreme precision, thus she only had one to spare.

“I’ve never seen that one before, what is it?” Yennefer asked as she approached with an odd look on her face. Never before had she seen Tissaia hold a potion as carefully as she did this one. She watched as the sorceress agitated the contents by gently rolling her wrist. The emerald green liquid inside began to glow softly and she could see flecks of blue shimmer throughout.

“It is called De Vries’ extract, something I invented many years ago. It allows the imbiber to see concealed creatures even through walls, humans included. This should help you navigate to where you need to be, but the effects don’t last long. Ten to fifteen minutes is about all you will have.”

“You never cease to amaze me,” Yennefer said as she shouldered the pack and reached for the extract Tissaia still held in her hand.

Tissaia retracted her arm, clutching it tightly against her chest with a stern look on her face. “Do not be clumsy with it, this is the only one I have and I cannot make another.”

She rolled her eyes and huffed as she held out her hand, waiting for the sorceress to relinquish control of the vial with scrolling silver embellishments and a glass topped cork. “I promise I won’t drop it.”

Once she had everything she needed, Yennefer walked outside the cabin where Geralt was pacing the porch anxiously. “Are you ready? ” he asked with widened yellow eyes.

“Not entirely, but ready enough. Would you open a portal, love?” 

Tisssaia nodded with her lips pressed into a thin line. While Yennefer could see her relax when she cast her magic, she felt a bit sorry for leaving her like this. If only Geralt had left destiny alone and did not interact with royalty beyond the strictly necessary. As she stepped through the portal, she took one last look at Tissaia. The sorceress seemed oddly small, in the falling darkness, framed against the cabin that should have been such a comfortable hideaway for them both. 

Then she emerged through the portal and all she felt was the heat. The choking warmth of a burning city, where flames had sprung up all around them, slowly eating through the fortress of Cintra’s splendour. Everything had been blackened, from the stone walls to the corpses that laid strewn in the streets. Even the bricks, against which Yennefer rested a hand, under a small stone bough by the side of the castle were covered with soot. 

While she had expected the city to be in quite a state, she hadn’t anticipated the force of dread that came down upon her. Perhaps she had been wrong to dismiss this war so much. “So, where the hell is this princess?” she asked Geralt. 

“I last saw her in the northern wing,” the other witcher mumbled as he drew his steel sword and began to lead Yennefer to the location. 

As they snuck from shadow to shadow in the courtyard, Yennefer flipped the cork out of the potion vial that Tissaia had given her. The liquid inside stuck to the glass a little, oily in nature when its soft glow responded to her movements. Geralt held still, asking her what it was. “Something Tissaia gave me. She said it could make me see through walls.” 

Swallowing the contents, she felt the potion prickling on her tongue, just before the effect kicked in. It seemed as if a ripple went through her vision, first brightening everything, then allowing her to focus through the thick stone walls. She blinked a few times, then peered around in the direction that Geralt had pointed out to her. “Corpse in the corridor, just around the corner from where we stand. Let’s go take a look.” 

The soldier laid across the hallway, his armour and sleek brown hair soiled with blood. Uttering a soft  _ hmm _ , Geralt knelt down and inspected the emblems on his clothing. He frowned, running his fingers over the blue fabric of the soldier’s cape. “Lazlo, one of her guards.” 

“The blood’s still fresh,” Yennefer said. “He can’t have been killed long ago.” 

They continued through the dark castle, blades in hand and eyes trained on anything that moved. After having combed through the entire northern wing, down the staircases again and through the courtyard, they were afraid that they wouldn’t find princess Cirilla in the castle. Yennefer could tell that Geralt was getting frustrated, and she was just about to try to calm him when she heard the slightest sound of footsteps. It came from beneath her. 

She focused through the cobblestones of the courtyard, inhaling sharply when she witnessed a group of figures slowly moving through the hidden dungeon corridors beneath the ground. They held one struggling, smaller person in their midst. “They’re moving her out,” she whispered with urgency to Geralt. “That way. There must be a hidden exit somewhere.” 

“ _ Mhmm _ , it’s underneath the gate. Come on.” 

They stood still in the shadows, one witcher on either side of the inside of the gates, waiting for the Nilfgaardian soldiers to emerge. Yennefer counted three pairs, the middle one of which was restraining the princess. She sighed, tightening her grip on her sword and readying herself for the attack. She had to be careful, they needed the girl alive. 

With a woody creaking, the trapdoor opened up, the glinting surface of a helmet emerging shortly after. Yennefer held her breath as the first pair of soldiers walked out, then stood still barely two feet away from her, waiting for the others. The girl was relatively silent as they dragged her out. Something had been tied around her mouth and she had stopped struggling so much. With her enhanced sight, Yennefer could see the tears glinting on her cheeks and felt a stab of pity for the princess. Then she saw the third pair of helmets emerging from the trapdoor and lept from hiding. 

She put her foot down onto the planks, slamming the trapdoor shut onto their heads as she ducked low underneath a blade. With her full weight, she slammed into one of the soldiers that held the princess captive, drawing her dagger and stabbing into his arm. With a cry, he let go, though he was quickly silenced by Geralt’s blade from behind. His companion didn’t fare much better, having been knocked off his feet, left to flounder for a few moments before Yennefer silenced him for good. 

Grabbing the princess by her silken, ochre dress, Yennefer dragged her to the side, then put herself in front of the girl. The trapdoor began to rattle once again, but the two remaining soldiers charged at them with swords drawn and fury in their eyes. She folded her fingers into a loose fist and felt a familiar sensation as she drew the power of aard into her palm.

With a focused blast, she threw the sign in the direction of the trap door, which was now wide open as the other two guards burst through. The spell shoved them backwards and sent them toppling over one another, a helmet tumbled across the ground as pushed them back with her abilities. Geralt intercepted the remaining two, kicking one in the chest before his blade found its way through the belly of the other.

“Stay close to us, Ciri,” Geralt said as he dodged an incoming blade strike then slammed into the guard, jabbing a dagger through the thick leather armour which protected his ribs as he tried to recover from the swing. A deep gurgling sound welled up from his lungs as blood spilled from his mouth. The witcher brought a heavy boot up to the center of the man’s chest then shoved off of him while he drew back the dagger, wrenching it from his form. The limp body fell to the ground and the white wolf reassured the princess: “We’ll get out of this together but it might get a little rough.”

The two guards Yennefer had knocked back were on their feet again, one of them staggered about as he clutched his head while the other tried to steady him. Once they had gathered themselves they began to approach cautiously in unison.

She was able to parry the first incoming blow, but stumbled back as a blade struck the thick metal plates of her pauldron. Her fist met the jaw of the helmetless soldier with a thud before Geralt’s blade ran him through. Yennefer tackled the remaining guard as he attempted to flee, landing them both on the ground in an ungraceful heap. A sharp, pained choking sound was all he could manage as she drove her sword through his chest then pushed herself to her feet.

“We need to get out of here, and quickly,” Yennefer snapped to Geralt as she scanned the area for the glow bodies had emitted during the height of the effects of Tissaia’s elixir. She found them to be fading but could just make out some shapes in the distance. “There is an encampment just outside the gates of the city, I can see horses there. And more soldiers, that too. But not as many.”

“ _ Hmm _ , we have to get to those horses, we won’t have a chance at escaping on foot. Let’s try to be discreet… Yennefer, guide us over there,” Geralt said as his head snapped to the right sharply, having heard a cry of agony off in the distance.

Together they clung tightly to any shadow they could find, as they worked their way closer to the encampment. The smell of smoke and burning flesh filled Yennefer’s lungs and she found herself gasping for air until a gust of wind dispersed some of the cloud.

"There is a small concentration of them in that tent,” Yennefer said as she pointed from behind a large outcrop of rocks. “The horses appear to be just behind the tent. If we are quick about it we can slip by while they are still in the tent and grab a few of them.”

The last vestiges of the potion’s power faded as they reached the makeshift stables. Now she was left with her enhanced witcher sight, though it felt dull compared to the abilities that Tissaia’s brew had given her. One of the horses snorted nervously as it noticed their presences, to which Geralt immediately stepped forward to calm the animal. 

“Better with horses than with people, believe me,” Yennefer muttered as she undid the rag around Cirilla’s mouth. “Don’t scream.” 

A few shaky sobs exited the princess’ mouth instead, as she wiped her eyes with her sleeve and sniffled. Yennefer realized that standing next to the girl in full armour was more than a bit intimidating, especially after what she had just gone through. So she stuck the point of her sword into the dirt, grabbing the handle vertically as she took a knee and peered into the stables. 

“Who… are you?” the princess asked quietly. 

“We are witchers. That there is the idiot who has gained you through the law of surprise, Geralt -” 

“I know that,” Ciri continued in a whisper. “I meant you. Who are you?” 

“I’m Yennefer.” With a sigh, the witcher turned to the tent, where Geralt was just emerging with a duo of horses. One was grey and dappled, the other a shade of brown that looked much like his preferred Roach. “His… sister, of sorts. Come on, get up on the horse with him.” 

Once assured that Cirilla was seated, Yennefer mounted the other horse. It was a skittish thing, much less sure on its feet than Raven, and she felt its nerves when steering it away from the army camp. “Where do you want to go?” 

“Kaer Morhen. Home.” Geralt shrugged, as if that was the only option he had ever thought of. 

“Alright, I’ll ride over the Yaruga with you, then to the first mage who wants to throw me a portal back to my cabin. Or maybe I’ll ride up to Aretuza myself.” Yennefer spurred on her horse, the steady rhythm of its hooves soothing her. After this ridiculous rescue was over, she would head to wherever it was that Tissaia had gone and help her love in this war. 

The relative peace did not last long. Soon, both witchers discerned a third horse’s steps in between their own. They cursed, though they could not hold still to look for long. 

“Who is it, Yen?” Geralt asked as he did not avert his eyes from the darkness in front of him. 

Yennefer turned in the saddle, trying to get a fleeting glance at their assailant while keeping control over her horse. “No idea. Plumed helmet, big nose.” 

Cirilla made a muffled sound of distress before shouting over the clangour of their horses: “That’s Cahir! One of Nilfgaard’s-” 

“Quiet!” Yennefer snapped at her. “Geralt, take her over the bridge. I’ll deal with this one.” 

While the white wolf likely knew that it was not the most promising plan, it was also the only one they had. He nodded, tight-lipped, then hunched just a bit further over the princess while spurring his horse into a faster gallop. They would see each other again, Yennefer knew, whether that was in a few minutes or after the war was over. Witchers would survive, as they always had done. Slowing down her horse, she weighed her steel sword comfortably in her hand. Then she turned to the man, Cahir, and lifted her blade to begin the fight.

Dust rose from the kicking of anxious hooves as the clanging of metal against metal sounded in the air. Yennefer held the reins tightly in one hand, steering her horse around Cahir’s and keeping him locked in a circular battle with her. Strike after strike, their blades met. With her jaw clenched, she braced herself for impact as he reared his horse then swung downwards at her with the strength of the animal aiding his attack.

Her sword met his but she lurched forward as her own horse bucked, trying to rid himself of her. Raven knew battle, they had fought many different kinds of evils together, and he knew her.

“Steady,” Yennefer said to the horse as she righted herself and regained control.

Her enemy wasn’t nearly as strong as she was, but every blow he dealt was done with precision and Yennefer also found him to be extraordinarily fast. He was able to effortlessly sword fight using either hand and his efficiency made up for his weaker stature.

She felt her sword snag against the leather of his armour as she swung and he dodged. She spun the horse around to prepare to attack again, glancing at the forms of Geralt and Ciri in the distance as they rode across the bridge.

“They’ll be returned,” he bluntly stated. “We have forces everywhere. There is nowhere they can go.”

Yennefer laughed. “We were able to infiltrate Cintra and take the princess right out from beneath the noses of nearly the entire Nilfgaardian army, I’m sure they’ll be fine,” she returned, hoping it would be true.

It worked to enrage the knight and he kicked his horse and began to charge. He pulled back, turning away from the flames and shielding his face with his arm as she dropped the reins and cast Igni. In the distance, Yennefer could see more soldiers approaching. The realization was interrupted as her horse bucked and she found herself thrown from the saddle.

An ungraceful roll was all she could manage and she struggled to get to her feet. She felt dazed and a warm slickness on her brow as she brought a hand to it. Her fingertips were tipped in crimson, something which was forgotten shortly after as several soldiers swarmed the location.

She decorated the ground in blood as they came after her in waves, but there were too many and she found herself pinned with her face in the dirt as a large group of soldiers rushed at her simultaneously. Struggling was useless as there were no less than six guards holding her in place, one of which currently had his knee pressed into her back.

Cahir rode up, a steady canter. Yennefer strained her neck to look up at him, watching as he sheathed his sword, casting a look of pity at her. “Take her to the mage, have her imprisoned, she might be useful for something.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> New characters, backstory, plot stuffs. All in all a decent after-hiatus start :D


	29. Chapter 29

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yennefer... she's still imprisoned and Vanielle is a pain. Enter Tissaia!

[Greypaws](https://soundcloud.com/user-100350749) · [Still Waters Chapter 29](https://soundcloud.com/user-100350749/still-waters-chapter-29)

* * *

Come morning, Geralt nor Cirilla had been brought into the makeshift prison where Yennefer had been thrown into. So, the witcher leaned back against one of the four rough wooden tent poles that held the canvas roof up, content to try once again to wring her wrists out of her bonds. If they had wanted to kill her, they would have done so already. All she could do was wait and wait, until there was an opportunity for escape. 

A ward divided the tent into two halves. It was anchored by runes in at least five different places, and Yennefer had long since discovered that her magic was too weak to dislodge any of them. This was made by a powerful mage, and a witcher’s signs just would not stand a chance. 

There was a desk of sorts in the corner of the tent, beyond the ward. It held an inkwell with the adjoining quill, rolls of parchment, books. Everything a mage would need. It made Yennefer think of Tissaia’s setup in the cabin, which caused her to feel a brief twinge in her heart. She had to get out of here quickly, otherwise Tissaia would start to worry about her. Before she could think further on an escape attempt, the flap of the tent opened and a figure stepped into the tent. 

It was the mage to whom the stuff on the desk belonged. In one look at her, Yennefer could sense that she was a sorceress who owned a lot of stuffy books and wrote stuffy letters very regularly. Her face was kind. Soft and gentle, with a frown between her eyebrows that reminded Yennefer of Triss Merigold. Though her features were strong, both her nose, eyebrows and chin fairly defined, there was an uncertainty and awkwardness about her. 

Her hair was as black as most of the clothing she wore. A dress with lacquered leather on the shoulders, layered over each other in triangular sheets with golden contouring. The fiery sun of Nilfgaard was embroidered with more gold onto her chest. While the dress broadened her shoulders and all of the gold was impressively catching the light when she moved, Yennefer still saw the sorceress pause and waver when she caught sight of her. 

“Never seen a witcher before?” Yennefer taunted, standing up and letting a somewhat deranged grin spread over her face. After she noticed how the mage took a tiny step back, she suddenly jumped forward with a rough shout, taking great delight in how her adversary stumbled backwards. “Aren’t you a bit too scared to walk around in this shithole?” 

“Do not speak to me,” the sorceress said, turning away from Yennefer, towards her desk. 

“Well, unless you plan to gag me, I don’t think I will.” With an ungainly movement, Yennefer wiped some of the dried blood off her brow with her forearm. “I know you,” she mumbled. “Your clothes… so fancy. Must be high in rank.  _ Ah _ , now I know! You’re that one that Tissaia wrote to. The nice mage of Nilfgaard, not the evil one that sank all the ships.” 

“You know nothing about me, nor what I am capable of.” The sorceress replied curtly as she pulled out the chair and took a seat at her desk. She pulled the quill from her inkwell and reached for a sheet of parchment then dipped the pen into the inkwell, tapping the excess off.

“Oh I don’t need to know you to know that you are scared… of me, of your superiors, of this war. I can hear your heartbeat, it’s extraordinarily fast, your hand trembled as you pulled out the chair just yet, there are probably over a hundred ways you could silence me right now, but you haven’t.” The other woman stiffened as Yennefer spoke and she smirked to herself knowing that her words were at least getting under her skin.

“Perhaps I should,” the dark haired sorceress replied.

“But you won’t,” she said as she leaned against one of the poles and slid down it until she was sitting once again. She stretched her legs out, crossing one over the other at the ankles, wondering if her fearless captor could feel her penetrating gaze burning a hole through her back. “It would require you to take some of these protective wards down in order to do so, and we both know you aren’t going to do that.”

The only response she received after that was the quiet scratching of pen upon parchment and the occasional sound of paper being folded and an incantation to seal it being uttered. Yennefer found it to be rather boring, and scanning the inside of the tent for a conventional way out was proving to be fruitless. 

“I think you’re also afraid of Tissaia. She had mentioned writing to you before, a few times in the past… Vanielle, that’s your name, isn’t it? I’m sure you know I’m close with her. There is even a song about us, you may have heard it.”

“I will not let you go just because you start mentioning names, if that is the game you are playing,” Vanielle said as a letter appeared on her desk, similar to the way Tissaia received correspondence. She placed a thumb under the magical seal and broke it effortlessly, picking up her quill once again and signing it before sealing it anew then sending it back to whomever it came from.

“What I’m trying to do is convince you to do the right thing before even more people get hurt. You can’t possibly want any of this,” Yennefer said as she awkwardly stumbled to her feet again, feeling the crackling hum of magic pricking along her skin as she approached the barrier. She tried to recall everything Tissaia had ever said about the other woman. “People are dying, cities are being overthrown. You lost your position as the highest ranking mage years ago and were replaced by another. You are powerful, that much is obvious. But you weren’t ruthless enough for them, were you? They wanted to bathe in the spoils of their conquests, but it wasn’t you who could get them there… it was Fringilla.”

“I’ve heard enough from you,” Vanielle said with as much venom in her voice as she could muster. She stood from her chair and spun around to face her prisoner, a single drop of ink fell from the tip of the pen, landing just next to her foot. After wearing a contemplative expression for a few moments, she calmly returned her quill to its holder and took a few tentative steps towards the barrier she had constructed to contain Yennefer.

“You can come with me, we can both end up on the right side of this war,” Yennefer urged as the other woman lifted a hand, extending it towards her wards.

“There are more ways than one to silence a person,  _ without  _ causing harm unto them.”

Yennefer heard her speak a few words then watched a shimmering glow illuminate each of the wards which held her inside the magical prison. Soon the sound of soldiers marching by and orders being shouted, began to fade. Even the sound of Vanielle as she slid her chair back and sat down, resuming her task of opening and responding to letters, disappeared and she was left to sit in silence. The sorceress, having grown tired of hearing the sound of her voice, had woven a sound dampening spell within her current wards.

~~~

Tissaia had paced the cabin for a greater part of the night and for the better part of the day. Her line of sight never too far from the place on her desk where her correspondence arrived. There had been letters, several of them. But none contained any word about Yennefer.

There was, however, a letter which had come under Philippa’s seal. It was from Coral and vividly described the state of Cintra when she had surveyed it before returning to Bear Keep. One sentence in the letter stood out to her the most, haunting her thoughts no matter how clear she tried to keep her mind, for it was clouded with matters of the heart now.

_ ‘There is no place in or around Cintra where Nilfgaard is not.’  _

Her heart had clenched as she read it, knowing Yennefer had gone into that with only Geralt by her side. She knew the witchers were capable, but Coral’s letter spoke of thousands of soldiers camped around the capital. It could not hurt to take a look, if only to make sure that Yennefer was alright, and to have more details to report to the chapter in three days. After ensuring that everything she had taken to the cabin was safely back in her house in Rinde, she cast a portal to the edge of the Nilfgaardian encampment. 

Immediately after arrival, by the bridge over the Yaruga river, she cloaked herself with magic. Invisible, she took a few cautious steps towards the camp. Behind it, she saw the smoking ruins of the once proud city of Cintra. She had not expected it to take her breath away, but as she looked at the inky clouds that rose to the sky, she felt very small. Lifting a hand to her mouth in shock, she could not bring herself to move for a few moments. She wished she could have rallied the mages sooner, then Cintra would not have fallen. Despite the fact that the rulers of Cintra had never been very forthcoming to sorcery, she could have tried harder to protect them. 

Covering her mouth with her arm she hesitantly took a step closer to the camp. Of the many tales Coral had told, exaggerating the details, her report regarding the severity of the situation at the castle held no mistruths. Each concealed step she took towards the encampment caused a fear she rarely felt, growing larger in the pit of her stomach. She stood near a smoldering blaze and fought back the urge to choke on the thick pillar of smoke which drifted into the sky as a small party of soldiers passed. While the soldiers themselves frightened her very little, the war hound which strode obediently alongside them, gave her cause for concern. Even more so as it paused, lifting its muzzle into the air as it began to sniff in her general direction.

Carefully, she took a step closer to the fire, uncertain what it was which caused such a horrendous smell to radiate from it and unwilling to look into it further. A gust of wind carried the smoke at an angle which completely enveloped her body. She held her breath, her lungs burning until the soldier commanded the hound to continue with them.

From the smoke she emerged, drawing in a silent breath as she made her way deeper into the camp. Although she was completely concealed, she floated from shadow to shadow, looking for any signs of Yennefer, Geralt or Ciri. Her brow furrowed as she sensed something, a very faint tug of magic from a tent off in the distance.

She strained herself, reaching out with her magical abilities in the least intrusive way possible, afraid that even the slightest ripple through the fabric of chaos would give her position away to whatever magic users were inevitably nearby. She focused and felt the magic radiating from five concentrated points, with another spell threaded through them like a ribbon.

The signature was unmistakable, it was that of her former acquaintance, Vanielle. She drew back the magic she had used to probe the area, confident that she knew what the spell was. A prison, with a silencing barrier around it. No doubt Yennefer was being held within it.

Her heart pounded as she made her way closer to the tent, pausing to let a group of soldiers pass before continuing on, her gaze locked on the tent. When she reached the entrance, she pushed open the flap and walked in without any hesitation.

As she had suspected, it was Vanielle who sat at a desk beneath a mountain of correspondence. The sudden movement startled the other sorceress and ink splattered on the desk as the quill flew from her hand, landing on a half written letter and smearing ink across the page as well.

She allowed the concealment spell to dissolve, leaving behind the comforts of invisibility to face the woman who held her lover captive. Yennefer, who had been resting against a tent pole, rose to her feet and stumbled closer to the barrier. She could see her lips mouthing her name, though not a sound was heard.

Tissaia looked to the heap of paperwork on the desk and cast an indignant look towards Vanielle. “I wasn’t certain if you were receiving letters, as you hadn’t responded to my request.”

“That is because your request would require me to turn my back on the Nilfgaardian empire, to give up everything I have ever worked for,” she returned as she blotted the ink on the desk with a piece of cloth.

“ _ This _ is everything you have worked for?” The sorceress hummed as she motioned to the desk. She picked up the piece of parchment, now stained with ink. “This is a report on how much food is left in the camp stores. Something a mage of your station should have nothing to do with. Do they make you count the rations yourself?” Tissaia dropped the paper with a flick of her wrist, turning away and folding her hands together as she paced the tent a few times.

“It is important to know!” Vanielle retorted.

“Very,” she replied curtly. “But there are plenty of soldiers who could perform that task admirably. You are a sorceress in the court of Nilfgaard, you should be with the other magic wielders, planning the next conquest. Instead you are here, guarding a single witcher in a tent while tending to administrative work.”

“If I don’t perform these tasks, I will never be let into the Emperor’s inner circle again.” With a sigh, Vanielle gave up on cleaning the ink off her desk, instead taking a small step forward in Tissaia’s direction. Though she stood a bit taller than her, her breathing was shaky. 

Beneath the broad shouldered dress and the golden filigree, Tissaia could still see the timid girl she had helped with her studies, while she herself worked under Rectoress De Winter as teacher. Vanielle had never been very outspoken or strongly opinionated, though she was definitely intelligent. It had come to a surprise when she had been sent to placate Nilfgaard, though it was shortly before De Winter had finally found a place for Tissaia where she would fit in as well, thus she hadn’t been able to spend a lot of time thinking about it. 

“This isn’t your goal,” she said after a long sigh. “Your goal has always been to mean something. You won’t find that here. The Chapter will meet in a few days at Aretuza. Come with me, I can help you.” 

“I don’t need your help!” Vanielle huffed, turning away and pacing through the tent, now a mirror of what Tissaia had done a moment before. 

As she watched her former friend and colleague walk back and forth, Tissaia noticed that Yennefer was trying to capture her attention with a vigorous waving of her arms. She seemed to say, though Tissaia could not hear her through the spell  _ “What’s taking you so long?”  _

“Patience, dear,” Tissaia said, making sure to over-enunciate it a bit. She turned to Vanielle again, who had stopped her pacing. The other sorceress looked lost, her eyes practically spilling her indecisiveness at Tissaia’s feet. “This will not help you further, Vanielle,” she said. “Come with me, save yourself from this nonsense. You will not find glory in Nilfgaard, only cruelness and zealots. You have seen the city burn.” 

Yennefer seemed to spout profanities behind the ward, though Tissaia could still not hear her through the spell. In any case, the witcher was gesturing wildly and pointing at both women with furious gestures. Tissaia could understand her lover’s anger, despite the fact that it made it harder to concentrate on convincing Vanielle of the fact that she wasn’t on the right path anymore. Then, to her surprise, Vanielle lifted a hand and let both the ward and the dampening spell fade away. 

“ - fucking mages and your talking!” Yennefer spat, before cutting off her rant as the sounds from outside the ward could reach her ears again. She breathed heavily, taking a step in Tissaia’s direction while pointing an accusing finger at her. “You! What took you so damn long?” 

“Quiet, Yennefer, or the entire camp will hear you,” Tissaia said, walking up to her and laying an arm on hers. It relieved her immensely to see that Yennefer wasn’t severely injured. Apart from a gash on her forehead and some bruises, she seemed unharmed. 

“I should not be doing this,” Vanielle said with a worried look on her face.

“If not this, then what? Imprison us both in hopes of gaining favour at court? We both know that neither of us are valuable enough for that,” Tissaia said as she motioned between herself and Yennefer.

Vanielle cast a sullen look towards the ground, then to the mountain of paperwork which had accumulated on her desk. Her already defeated posture seemed to shrivel even more as another piece of mail deposited itself on her desk.

Yennefer sighed impatiently as she turned to face Tissaia. “If she doesn’t want to come with us, we should just open a portal and leave her behind.”

Tissaia shook her head no, pursing her lips as she did so. Before she could open her mouth to explain to Yennefer, Vanielle stepped in as she cast a look at the witcher. “The usage of portals in the camp and the city has been prohibited ever since Princess Cirilla was abducted. The area is warded to keep anyone from being able to effectively summon one. All requests to portal in or out require explicit permission from the Emperor and must be executed by Fringilla.”

“When you entered the tent, you were invisible, then I saw you materialize before my eyes. Can we get out of here like that?” 

“I’m afraid using it on another person will pull too tightly on the fabric of chaos, giving away our location to any magic wielder in the vicinity. Including Fringilla. I can only use it on myself without drawing concern.”

Yennefer clenched her hand into a fist and paced back and forth a few times, her gaze unknowingly falling upon the wooden support which held up the heavy canvas tent. It was dotted with several fine holes, giving the appearance that something had bored into it. “Horses?” she finally asked as she shrugged. “Since that seems to be our only option.”

The thought of speeding out of a camp filled with enemy combatants on horseback was not ideal, and Tissaia loathed to even entertain the idea. But she could not deny that the witcher was right, there were no options left.

“I will retrieve them,” Vanielle said, breaking the silence. “I know where the stables are and I won’t draw any suspicion going to retrieve them. You can wait here until I return but keep  _ quiet _ ,” she said, placing great emphasis on the final word she spoke.

“You are with us then, truly?” Tissaia said, narrowing her eyes and tilting her head back slightly so as to look down the bridge of her nose at the other woman. She searched every corner of her face for even the slightest hint of treachery, finding only more of the same frightened look she had worn when she first dropped the concealment spell.

“I am, and I had better hurry before someone notices I’ve dropped the wards which kept you imprisoned. When I bring the horses, ride behind me in a line with about a horse distance in between. It’s how sorceresses in service of the court ride. And wear these,” Vanielle walked over to a trunk in the corner of the tent and pulled out two dark, hooded cloaks and handed them one each. Embroidered on the back, in threads of golden silk, was the blazing sun emblem of Nilfgaard.

The tension in the air was thick as they waited for her to return. With a frown, Yennefer marched over to the trunk and threw it open, digging around until she found the weapons which had been taken from her upon capture. With a victorious, yet muted laugh, she fastened her swords and her bone handled dagger, then donned the cloak. She tugged the hood over her head as Tissaia did the same.

Yennefer waved Tissaia to the front of the tent as she heard the distinct sound of three horses approaching. Using the back of her gloved hand, the witcher pushed the flap of the tent aside just enough to peer out into the darkness. “I see her, she has the horses.”

“Keep your head down and  _ do not  _ look at anyone,” Tissaia said as she calmly pushed through the door and headed out into the night as if she belonged.

Yennefer quickly followed her lead, casting her eyes to the ground as she followed Tissaia to the horses and they mounted up. The urge to usher the horse into a gallop was nearly overwhelming and the witcher felt the rhythm of her slow heartbeat increase as they rode quietly through the camp.

In the distance, Yennefer heard a familiar name being mentioned.  _ The white wolf _ . She strained her ears, trying to hear above the busy sounds of post battle. Her heart clenched in her chest and her eyes flitted briefly towards the direction of the voices as they discussed the names of several assassins which had been sent to eliminate Geralt and return the princess.

“Hey, you there!” a voice boomed throughout the camp.

It was a familiar voice, one Yennefer had not soon forgotten. She grimaced upon hearing it, then again when he repeated it along with a demand to stop. With her hands firmly gripping the reins, she turned to look. Standing with a small group of soldiers, was Cahir. For a moment, Yennefer hadn’t recognized him because his helmet was tucked under his arm, hiding the plumage.

“The witcher, she’s escaping. Apprehend them!” Cahir yelled as he raced to his nearby horse, putting on his helmet in one swift motion before mounting. The soldiers he had been speaking with did the same, and Yennefer counted three additional fighters.

The two sorceresses turned, and Yennefer could see the whites of the eyes as they widened. “Time to go,” she shouted as she spurred her horse on.

“I told you to keep your head down!” Tissaia said through gritted teeth as she leaned forward in the saddle and nudged the side of the horse with her foot, ushering the animal on. A low growl escaped from Vanielle as she did the same, her horse nervously shifting its feet before it finally obeyed her orders to break into a gallop.

  
  
  
  



	30. Chapter 30

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We loved writing this chapter. That says nothing good about its contents. 
> 
> Anyways, we are now at Aretuza and there are intimidating ladies everywhere.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 30 omg   
> That's a lot of chapters

[Greypaws](https://soundcloud.com/user-100350749) · [Still Waters Chapter 30](https://soundcloud.com/user-100350749/still-waters-chapter-30)

_(narration by Greypaws!)_

* * *

Yennefer did not know if all Nilfgaardian horses were so unsteady on their feet or whether she had been unlucky twice over. While Tissaia's mount had no trouble sprinting towards the bridge over the river, Yennefer’s was shifting from left to right as she tried to keep it on a straight path. 

Dusk was falling over the plains of Cintra, advancing quickly upon the camp and the riders. It came as a blessing, since the soldiers were not very far behind them and Yennefer saw an arrow fly past herself and Tissaia. Cursing, she gripped the reins a bit tighter and tried to spur her horse on a bit more. It seemed to be at its top speed already, breathing harshly in a way that told the witcher it could not keep up for very long anymore. 

The bridge thundered under their horses’ hooves as they rode over the cobbled road. Beneath it, the Yaruga river churned, white foam whipped up on its surface. It seemed as angry as Yennefer herself.    
  


“Where to now?” she yelled at Vanielle, turning around in the saddle to see the sorceress lagging behind. 

With a gasp, Vanielle opened her lips, previously pressed into a tight line. “The forest between Cintra and Sodden! We can lose them in the trees.” 

_ First we’ll have to get out of range of their bows _ , Yennefer thought bitterly to herself as she followed Vanielle’s pointing finger to the thin line of trees at the horizon. It was at least a good ten minutes of galloping at full speed away, and she sucked in a quick breath as another arrow barely missed her. 

Tissaia veered right, then sharply left again, zigzagging to avoid the arrows. In the fading light, Yennefer could just make out the thin strands of hair that had started to become undone from the sorceress’ bun. She followed Tissaia’s pattern, urging her unwilling horse into the evasive movement. They were a tad slower this way, but that was better than risking to get shot off their horses. 

With one hand, she fumbled with the clasp of the dark cloak she had been made to wear. The less Nilfgaardian objects were in her general vicinity, the better. After balling it up in her hand, she threw it away, where it mixed with the dirt clods kicked up by her horse. The tree line was approaching faster now, the dark shapes of the pines a welcome smattering of sharp peaks on the horizon. 

Before her, Tissaia slowed down a little, so much so that Yennefer came to ride next to her. She saw how her lover took both reins in one hand, then began to collect magic in the palm of her left hand. Sparks flew from the spell when she turned and hurled it in the direction of their attackers, over Vanielle’s head. With a sharp snapping sound, a barrier solidified, throwing two soldiers off their mounts as they smashed into it, while the horse of the third stumbled over them. 

Yennefer watched with a barely concealed grin as Cahir approached the fallen soldiers, only to dig his heels into the sides of his horse and leap over it with an infuriating kind of grace. He grabbed another arrow from his quiver. 

_ “Fuck!”  _ Yennefer shouted as she spurred on her horse and barreled towards the tree line as fast as she could make it go. Next to her, Tissaia leaned forward in the saddle as she too ushered her horse to ride faster. 

The forest was nearby now, a wall of darkness that cloaked the reddish horizon. Yennefer’s horse slipped a little as it sprinted between the trees, wary of the sudden obstacles. She tried to calm it and follow Tissaia’s mount in a slower trot, when she suddenly heard a cry of pain behind her. 

Vanielle fell forward, barely managing to keep her feet in the stirrups as her horse entered the forest. Against the last vestiges of light, Yennefer could see the dark, narrow shaft of the arrow that had anchored itself in her shoulder. She cursed under her breath, quickly looking where Tissaia had gone. The smaller sorceress had heard Vanielle’s scream too, as she was holding still just before them.

“Go on, I’ve got her,” Yennefer said to Tissaia, earning a tense nod while she turned her horse around and rode further. “You’re not going to fall off now,” Yennefer hissed to Vanielle. “We’re not there yet and you haven’t done much to kick Nilfgaard back into the south.” 

She waited until Vanielle rode before her, keeping their horses close to each other. In this way, she could keep an eye on the sorceress as they traversed the forest at a considerably slower tempo than they had ridden on the plains. 

From the looks of it, the elaborate lacquered leather collar had ensured that the arrow had not gone through Vanielle’s chest. Instead it stuck out at an awkward angle by her shoulder, undoubtedly still having drawn blood. It was sure to be painful, but nothing she could not recover from. 

Yennefer’s horse began to buck slightly and she cursed under her breath as she fought to gain control back over the animal. Ahead, she could see Tissaia weaving through spindly tree trunks. Though they had put some distance between themselves and the archer, she wasn’t going to underestimate him. 

She turned to Vanielle, motioning her to ride faster. Just as she was about to focus back on the path ahead, she saw the sorceress’ face contort and a pained cry tore from her throat. Her back arched before she slumped forward in the saddle, she was fighting to hold onto the horse and Yennefer could see another arrow had pierced her back.

Pulling her horse closer to the other woman’s, she reached over and grabbed her by the shoulder, pushing her back on her horse as she nearly toppled from her mount. She held tightly to her own reins and gritted her teeth as she repositioned herself.

“Dammit… you need to hold on. At least until we are out of range!” Yennefer shouted over the heavy thundering of hooves. Having sensed danger, the horses picked up their pace.

The forest became thick and the sky dark. Had it not been for her witcher abilities, she wouldn’t have been able to see a thing. Through the canopy of trees, a beam of moonlight shone to the floor. Yennefer’s eyes widened as Vanielle passed through. The silver glow illuminated a trail of crimson which ran from the corner of her mouth.

She split her attention between what was behind her and what was ahead of her as she stole glances at the injured sorceress as well. She bobbed about in the saddle, head and neck being whipped around as the horse rode on. Through the darkness behind them, she could see the glinting of light against metal cutting through the dense atmosphere of the forest.

A litany of curse words spilled from her lips as she jerked the reins of her horse, causing it to veer to the side. She heard the buzzing sound of an arrow as it whizzed past her ear, though it carried much less accuracy.

She followed her lover with her keen sight as she led them away from Cahir and they finally lost him in the depths of the darkness and the woods. The ride felt as if it had stretched a span of a decade, though Yennefer knew it had been much closer to ten minutes. 

With one quick motion, Tissaia swung her leg over the side of her horse and hopped out of the saddle. She waited as Yennefer approached, holding the reins of Vanielle's horse in her hand as well. 

“She’s been injured,” Yennefer said as she dismounted, then made her way to the side of Vanielle’s horse. “Shot twice… and I’m not sure-”

“Get her down from there!” Tissaia interrupted as Yennefer pulled Vanielle from her horse, her limp form slung over her shoulders. 

While the forest floor was soggy with dew and fallen leaves, Yennefer laid Vanielle on her side, carefully positioning her so her lungs would not fill with blood. She took her dagger out of its sheath and began to cut away the preposterous leather collar that had ironically saved the sorceress’ life. One of the arrows came away with it, not having penetrated into her flesh very far. 

The pained gasp that escaped from Vanielle’s mouth, sounding as if it came with some blood too, told Yennefer that she was about to sink into unconsciousness. Tissaia kneeled next to her, a healing draught in her hands, which she placed onto the forest floor. 

“Can you get this out without cutting?” Yennefer asked, gesturing to the second arrow. 

“I can. A moment.” Tissaia pulled another vial from her dress, clasping it tightly into her hand. After channeling a sliver of chaos into it, the contents began to glow a light blue, giving off enough light for them to treat Vanielle’s injury by, as the night was encroaching upon them. 

Then she placed her hands on either side of the arrow, closing her eyes. At the slightest touch, Vanielle groaned mutedly, causing Tissaia to sigh. “You brought this onto yourself,” she said, before speaking a few words of Elder into the night. 

At her behest, the flesh around the wound began to part further, revealing more of the metal point and its single barb on the side. More blood trickled out as well, though Tissaia didn’t seem overly concerned. Her eyebrows were drawn tightly together in focus as she repeated her spell, carefully ensuring that the wound opened more without tearing skin. 

Yennefer watched in slight awe. She would have just cut an incision next to the arrowhead and removed it in that way. But Tissaia was being extra careful, she realized. Likely because, no matter what had transpired, Vanielle was still an old friend of hers and she had shown to be on their side. Many people might have thought that Tissaia had a cold heart, but Yennefer knew at that moment once again that it wasn’t true. 

Finally, the injury had parted enough to allow Tissaia to remove the arrow without tearing the flesh around the barb further. Yennefer leaned in, holding a cloth to the wound to catch the blood while Tissaia felt for further internal injury. 

“The damage to her lungs is something I can heal now,” she mumbled. She sounded worn out, even though her posture was still perfect. “I can seal the wound with spellwork. It will hold until I cast a portal to Aretuza, come daybreak.” 

Yennefer stood up, confident that Tissaia was more than capable of healing Vanielle on her own. She had seen and felt her do such things on herself, more times than she could count. While tying the horses securely to a tree, she sighed and fought the urge to punch said tree. Above anything, she hoped that Geralt had successfully managed to escape with Ciri. If he had failed, all of the trouble she was going through now would have been for nothing. There was no way to know for certain. 

Once she returned from her brief respite, she found that Tissaia had laid Vanielle on her back, having covered her with the Nilfgaardian cloak that she had, wisely, not thrown away. The little bottle with the glowing potion stood beside her, illuminating her tired face from beneath. As Yennefer sat down close to her, Tissaia said: “I’m glad to see that you are alright. A letter from Coral spoke of the size of the army… I couldn’t help but take a look.” 

“Always the wise mage,” Yennefer answered, though she couldn’t entirely fight the grin that slipped onto her lips. “Well, it’s not that easy to beat me down.” 

She had wanted to kiss Tissaia on the lips, if only to make her presence a bit more tangible. But next to them, Vanielle awoke with a startled cough, so the witcher drew back with a distasteful look. 

“I must apologize again, Yennefer,” she said in a hoarse whisper. “I have tried before, to beat you down.” 

“You have?” 

“The assassin with the krallach, that was my proposal. A last-ditch effort to hold my position and keep Fringilla Vigo from… overtaking me. I knew that Tissaia had let herself in with you. Such powers, together… I envied it.” 

“That was  _ you _ ?” Yennefer said as she reached for her shoulder, humming as she touched the area where Tissaia had wrested the assassin’s throwing dagger from her flesh. “I would never have suspected you capable of such.”

Vanielle struggled with a breath, a slight wheeze could be heard as she inhaled before speaking. “I was desperate and made a poor decision.”

“Well, your poor decision almost got me killed. Not to mention, that thing was ugly and smelled. I was cleaning the stench of its blood from my armour for weeks.”

The injured sorceress blinked slowly, her skin carried a sickly pallor. “Sometimes you rule the court and sometimes the court rules you.”

“Hold still and try not to speak too much,” Tissaia said sharply, her brow creasing slightly before relaxing with a soft sigh. “I fear if you strain yourself you may reopen the healing tissues. Internal bleeding is not something I want to treat. We will have to wait to move you. I need to reserve myself to continue repairing the lung, it will take several treatments. Come light of dawn I can open a portal.”

Yennefer saw the way her lover fought to hide how drained she was, as the healing had always taken so much from her. She rested her hand on the small of her back before standing to retrieve her waterskin, then handing it to her. “I must go to Kaer Morhen, for Geralt and Ciri.”

“And I must return to Aretuza to meet with the rest of the Chapter and to gain support in the favour of stopping Nilfgaard. Afterwards, you should join us.” Tissaia took a few sips of the water then handed it back to her lover. She made her way to an exposed root of a tree and sat on it to avoid the damp ground, then leaned against the thick trunk.

“After what I’ve seen, I know I can’t just ignore it anymore. I’ll see who I can recruit and join you. I’ll keep watch for the night, you need rest,” Yennefer said as she leaned down and captured Tissaia’s lips in a kiss. They had come too close to losing everything, and so she savoured each brush of their lips until she stood and took watch.

~~~

Aretuza was bustling with mages, moreso than Tissaia had seen in decades. While she stood by one of the pillars in the entrance hall, on the lowest level of the building, she scanned over the crowd. Not only chapter members had come to the meeting. No, it seemed as if most of the northern mages had congregated in one place to discuss the future of the continent. Tissaia couldn’t help but feel a bit proud of the part she had played in it all. 

She had finally met the younger mage she had been corresponding with about the plan to hold the ruined fortress of Sodden Hill. Vilgefortz had turned out to be an enigmatic man, serious despite his age below a hundred years, spirited and surprisingly knowledgeable on military topics. They were enrolled in a pleasant conversation when the doors to the hallway opened and two familiar faces walked through. 

Klara Larissa de Winter, who Tissaia hadn’t seen in a decade or two. Her face was stern as ever, having gained one or two more wrinkles in the years. The blonde of her hair had faded even more, only leaving a small streak by her forehead. With her mouth pursed into a thin line and her hands folded before her stomach, she strode into the atrium. Her dress was a muted grey, with the only streaks of colour being the red of the inside fabric that showed by her collar and the ends of her sleeves, the brass buttons down the front and the gleaming pendant with Aretuza’s star on her chest. 

While she was not the tallest woman on the Continent, the Rectoress still seemed to dwarf Vanielle, who walked sullenly next to her, afraid to look anyone into the eyes. She had discarded the black Nilfgaardian dress in favour of a dark orange coloured one. It did little more than accent her rounded shoulders and the stiffness with which she held one of her arms next to her body. 

“ _ Oh _ grow a spine,” De Winter said as she quickened her pace, forcing Vanielle to follow. “Tissaia, it’s good to see you. I can say with certainty that she will make a full recovery after another healing session this evening. Your concerns were unwarranted.” 

“That is good to hear,” Tissaia said, lifting her chin to look her former mentor into the eyes. The lines of her face still looked sharp, as if her features were cut from marble. It pleased Tissaia to see this, however, since it meant that the Rectoress hadn’t changed a bit since she last saw her. “I have news on the proceedings of our plan. Philippa has managed to garner support from Kaedwen, Temeria and Redania, though their forces cannot ride to Sodden in any less time than three days. Until then, I fear we will have to hold the fort on our own, with support from the witchers of the wolf and bear schools.”    
  
De Winter narrowed her eyes, momentarily following another mage that walked by. “What of Ban Ard?” 

“A few young ones share our ideas, but I fear that Artorius Vigo and Stregobor have a strong grip on most,” Vilgefortz said, bringing a hand up to his short, black beard. 

“A pity,” the Rectoress admitted, her face souring further. She turned to Tissaia again. “And the witchers? Will Svandis join our forces?” 

Tissaia blinked mutely for a few seconds, for she had no idea who De Winter was speaking of. It was no name that Coral or Yennefer had ever mentioned to her. 

“Forbes, as she calls herself to most,” De Winter clarified. “You didn’t know that it is an abbreviation of her lengthy Skelligan last name? Rather alike to how your friend, Astrid, treats her own name.” 

“I don’t believe that she will join.” Tissaia sighed, knowing all too well how stubborn the old bear witcher was. “She would have strengthened us enormously, that is true.” 

The irony of that sentence wasn’t lost on her, though she knew better than to waste time on a trivial joke in front of the Rectoress.

The buzzing of conversation died down as the doors opened and Triss and Sabrina entered, both giving a very cordial greeting to De Winter, who nodded her head slightly in return. Just as Tissaia had begun to update the pair on her efforts, she felt a cold chill in the air. Something she knew was just an illusion, just the magical signature of Stregobor whenever he was in the vicinity. Her eyes narrowed as she turned to the door and watched him make an entrance.

Her eyes remained affixed to him as he made his way through the crowd, stopping to speak with several other members of the chapter. She only noticed she had become fixated when Triss rested a hand on her arm and she saw the look of concern on the other woman’s face. 

“Many that have gathered here today are behind the plan to hold Nilfgaard while the Northern forces ride south. But some of them can be easily swayed against the idea if someone like Stregobor convinces them that they would be better off doing nothing,” she said quietly as she leaned closer to the healer.

“ _ Ah _ ,” Stregobor’s voice carried through the hall and several people turned their attention to him. “Artorius has arrived. Let us move to the great chamber.”

For as long as she could remember, the enormous table in the center of the room with a map of the known continent etched into its surface, had been a place of discussion. Now it seemed like nothing more than a physical divide between those in favour of holding Nilfgaard at Sodden Hill, and those who were against it. Tissaia stood next to the Rectoress, Vilgefortz, Sabrina and Triss. She was hardly surprised to see Artorius join Stregobor on the opposing side of the table, along with several others which she had seen the wizard speaking with before the meeting was to begin.

As Stregobor began to recite the reasons for the meeting, the Rectoress interrupted him, leaving him with a stunned look on his face.

“I think we may dispense with the pleasantries, we all know why we are here,” De Winter said as she placed her gloved hands on the table.

Artorius Vigo stepped forward, a stern look on his face. “We do, we’ve all been receiving correspondence about this. Going to war against Nilfgaard is madness. They have rejected our mages for years.”

“Watching them overtake a civilization then doing nothing about it is madness,” Vilgefortz interjected as he pointed to the location of the fallen city on the map.

The elder wizard arched a grey brow, then opened his arms as he turned to those gathered behind him. “And they wanted to be left alone. They’ve only themselves to blame for this,” he said with a booming voice. 

“Nilfgaard won’t be satisfied until they have the whole continent!” Vilgefortz retorted “Look at what they did to Cintra.”

“Yes, everyone knows what happened, and who cares? As Artorius said, they rejected our help. Why should we go to war over people who didn’t want us there to begin with.” Stregobor shrugged his shoulders, wearing an indifferent look.

Tissaia felt a flash of anger at his lack of empathy, after having stood in the smoke of the smouldering remains of its citizens while she worked to free Yennefer. “Because if we don’t, our kingdoms will be next.”

Suddenly, all heads turned as the heavy, wooden doors swung open and Fringilla strode in with several other Nilfgaardian mages close behind. Her robes were plain and tailored in a way which gave her an ethereal presence. The bluish colored fabric gleamed as she walked through the light of the torches and stood at the far end of the table. Her shadow, elongated by the glow of the flames, crept towards the table until she was far enough away from the light that it disappeared.

“Our fight was with Cintra, and only Cintra. In Nilfgaard, we know what it’s like to have corrupt leaders. Under our new leadership, we changed. We’ve strengthened trade, we have funded research, we have torn down walls. Whilst Queen Calanthe had done nothing but put them up,” Fringilla said as she took her position at the table.

“We are not here to defend Cintra, but our way of life,” Rectoress de Winter said sharply, her voice echoing off the walls of the chamber as she glared intensely at the newly arrived sorceress. “The brotherhood, the academies. Everything we have built up over the centuries, you have rejected it all, Fringilla.”

“That is not true, we have simply modified it. Most of us came from Aretuza and Ban Ard, we’ve simply chosen a different path, one guided by the white flame,” Frigilla stated calmly.

Triss stepped closer to the table, her brows drawn up in the center. “By forcing people into servitude? By practicing the forbidden magic… demonology, necromancy?”

“Forbidden magic is nothing more than a story they taught us here. There is no such thing as light or dark magic. Nothing is as simple as that,” Fringilla said as she looked around the room, ensuring eye contact was made.

Tissaia strengthened her mental wards against mind control, telepathically alerting the trusted few to do the same. She then took a step forward and rested a curled fist on the table. “You sank an entire fleet of Skelligan ships to ensure your domination over those people.”

“Those soldiers were to aid Cintra,” Fringilla said. “As I said, our fight is only with them, and those who choose to aid them.” 

“Don’t listen to her,” Vanielle whispered, almost inaudible from where she stood between Tissaia and the Rectoress. Her face was deathly pale, as if she was either going to faint or be sick. She kept her eyes aimed squarely at the etchings on the table as she said: “They will not stop after Cintra. Emperor Emhyr intends to take the Continent, because Nilfgaard has been… ridiculed, for so long.” 

“And  _ you _ are a traitor twice over.” Fringilla fixed Vanielle with an icy stare, likely taking slight delight in how the other woman seemed to shrink even further. “Didn’t you want to be on the winning side? Did you expect the true Emperor to be as easily charmed with your advances as the false Fergus?” 

De Winter took a tense breath before letting her voice echo through the hall. “Enough! We have not come here to humiliate one another.”

“Yes, let us employ diplomacy,” Stregobor interjected, a nasty smile on his face. “Let us vote.” 

“Vote?” Vilgefortz responded, outraged. “First you dismiss everything we say, and now you want to ram through a vote?” 

Tissaia could sense the tensions rising. Her former mentor’s lips had compressed so much that they formed the thinnest line she had ever seen, while Triss was fidgeting with her hands and Sabrina looked like she wanted to murder someone. On the other side of the table, Stregobor did little to hide his triumph while Artorius was at least trying to look as neutral as possible. 

“Yes,” Stregobor said. “All in favour for letting those who have refused our mages for years continue to fend for themselves?” 

His hand went up, unsurprisingly. Artorius’ too, and most of the mages on their side of the table. Then more and more on Tissaia’s side too, though Triss, Sabrina, Vanielle and Vilgefortz abstained. So did the Rectoress, though even with an additional vote from the absent Philippa, Tissaia knew that they would not have the majority. She steeled herself, trying not to show her disappointment as De Winter ended the meeting and Fringilla left with her mages. Focussing on the etched map, as to not see the gleeful looks of Stregobor’s company, Tissaia waited until they had all exited the hall of Aretuza before she spoke up again. 

“Rectoress, will we-” 

“My office, not here,” De Winter said, turning sharply and beckoning those who had not voted in favour of Stregobor’s proposal to follow. Once they had travelled up the staircases of Aretuza and stood in a half-circle around the large, dark wooden desk in the Rectoress’ office, a silence fell. It lasted for long enough to become slightly uncomfortable, as the poise seemed to melt away from several of them. Sabrina began pacing in anger, until De Winter broke the silence. 

“Stand still, Kaedwenian, and listen. We did not bind ourselves to any obligation  _ not _ to stop Nilfgaard. We only refrained from voting for the Continent’s downfall and I think we should pride ourselves on that. Stregobor may think there will be something left to pick from the ashes once Nilfgaard is done with our kingdoms, but he is mistaken. There will be only destruction, oppression and decimation of what we have built for many centuries,” she said, looking around the room, watching as the impact of her words spread amongst the mages that had gathered. “I propose to run our own private vote now. All in favour for holding the ruin at Sodden Hill until the kings arrive with their armies?” 

There was not one mage in the room that did not lift their hand. A slight twitch in the Rectoress’ mouth was the only indication of her approval. She took a breath before continuing. “I am bound to Aretuza, therefore I cannot assist you in battle personally. But, you may help yourselves to whichever potions and herbs you need from Aretuza’s supplies. Does anyone have anything useful to add?” 

“I will try to convince the older students from Ban Ard once more,” Vilgefortz said. He received approving nods and hums from around the room. 

“Then I suggest we all get a good night’s rest now, to replenish ourselves before the coming days. Tomorrow morning, we shall portal to the riverbanks of the Yaruga. There, I will open portals for the witchers to join us as well. On the other side lies Sodden Hill.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Leaving off by last chapter was like: horsechasehorsechasehorsechase
> 
> And for this one it's: soddensoddensodden


	31. Chapter 31

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sodden sodden sodden!!

[Greypaws](https://soundcloud.com/user-100350749) · [Still Waters Chapter 31](https://soundcloud.com/user-100350749/still-waters-chapter-31)

_(Narration by Greypaws!)_

* * *

The sound of waves crashing against the rocky riverbank of the Yaruga river was deafening, and a stark contrast to the quiet walls of Aretuza. The Rectoress stood next to the portal she had opened until the last of the mages willing to make a stand at Sodden Hill had filed through, before stepping onto the beach herself.

“We are to travel across the river in those?” Sabrina asked with an edge of hesitation in her tone as she eyed a few small boats bobbing in the water against the boulder filled shore, all of which looked much better suited for fishing. Several people were standing by the boats, loading weapons which consisted of a few bows and bundles of arrows, as well as a couple of harpoons and fishing gaffs onto them.

“These people have been pushed from their homes. They’ve seen the scorched earth and the corpses Nilfgaard has left behind in their wake. For some of them, it is all they have left. Therefore, it is what we will use,” Rectoress De Winter said sternly. “I have been corresponding with the few remaining towns and villages in the area. They have gathered as many items as they can for the battle and have agreed to join us.”

Tissaia watched them work, stumbling over the slippery rocks as they readied the boats for the trip across the river. They were not warriors, that much was very apparent. But she was unwilling to discredit them as of yet, for they were a people fighting to keep what was theirs, something which often led to great strength.

The sound of the river muted the elven words the Rectoress had uttered, but the rushing sensation of magic caused everyone to take a few steps back as another portal began to spiral into existence. Through the portal emerged a familiar, smug faced witcher with a set of broad shoulders and fiery red hair which spilled over them. Philippa followed closely behind and Tissaia was relieved to see she had abandoned her courtly garb in favour of a much more practical outfit. It consisted of a dark tunic and trousers with a loose sleeved shirt underneath and a hardened collar which covered her neck and part of her chest.

“Tissaia!” Coral exclaimed as she and her lover made their way to the sorceress. Several other bear witchers began to appear from the portal as well.

“I am glad to see you,” she responded with sincerity.

“I’ve brought friends! That one with the big beard is Junod. Over there is Ivo and the one brooding next to him is Gerd… word is that he killed a dragon on his own. The others…” Coral said as she leaned down, speaking just loud enough so that Tissaia could hear her over the waves, “I’ve forgotten how they are called. But they were willing to join us in the fight so I brought them along.”

“And Forbes?” Tissaia asked, noting the lack of her gargantuan form in the vicinity.

“Ah, she decided to stay. Said she has always been there and will always be there, ancient thing she is. And still unwilling to part with that axe,” Coral said as she folded her arms across her chest and pouted.

“You know the tradition behind the axe, love. It won’t be yours until after she passes, and even then she may bequeath it to someone else entirely.” Philippa drawled as she patted Coral on the arm.

Huffing, Coral held out her arms in mock surprise. “Who is more qualified to receive the axe than me? Not any of them,” she said as she gestured loosely in the direction of the other bear witchers which had joined her.

The Rectoress recited another elven phrase, which caused the portal to shift locations. Magic crackled around the rim of the doorway until the image of the bear keep had faded and Kaer Morhen took its place instead.

Tissaia felt a smile dancing on her lips as Yennefer stepped through with several other witchers of the wolf school. Her yellow eyes locked onto her lover and she approached with a grin.

Once they had all safely crossed the threshold, and De Winter was certain there were no others, she altered the location of the portal once again, to Aretuza. “You are all incredibly strong individuals, but together you will be an impenetrable force. I have every bit of confidence that you are capable of holding back the attack until the northern forces arrive. The fate of the Continent rests with you.” Without any further delay, the Rectoress stepped through the portal and returned to Aretuza.

“Oh, look who has finally decided to come out of her den and join us! Did you help Yennefer pull her head out of her own ass, Tissaia?” Coral mused, drawing a low chuckle from Philippa.

Yennefer rolled her eyes and groaned. “Shut up, Coral. Yes, I’ve had a change of heart and decided to join. I’ve even brought help. This is Anica, Doralis and Lark. I’ve known them for a long while and I trust them with my life. Then we have Fola, Murta and Glacella. Newer witchers, but wolves just the same.”

Tissaia nodded in their direction as she introduced herself as well.

“We know who you are. There is still a song going around Kaer Morhen about the two of you,” Anica said with a knowing look, which seemed to shrink back ever so slightly under Yennefer’s intense glare.

“And what of Geralt,” Tissaia asked, sensing Yennefer’s discomfort.

Her lover shook her head. “Neither he nor Ciri were there. No one has seen nor heard from him either.”

Before Tissaia could answer, Vanielle softly cleared her throat. She shot an anticipatory look at Coral’s towering form before quietly saying: “He was not captured, otherwise I would have heard about it. I can only hope that he stayed safe after evading us - I mean… Nilfgaard.” 

“Get in the boat,” Philippa snapped at her, gesturing to one of the sloops. Her gaze was positively withering, and caused Vanielle to quickly take place in the boat. 

As Tissaia herself perched on the narrow wooden bank in the front of it, feeling the hard edge dig into her thighs, she turned around to her longtime friend. “Philippa, we cannot use this animosity now. She is on our side and we will have to hold the fort together.” 

“Then you’re forgetting that she led us on a wild goose chase across the entire continent, to stop that assassin from killing your witcher.” Philippa huffed and shifted on the bench when Coral entered the boat. 

“That was years ago, and we didn’t know it was her.” 

“We know now,” Philippa insisted, then yelped as Coral used the oars of the boat to splash water onto her. 

Slowly, achingly slowly, the boats slid over the misty water of the Yaruga. The quiet splishing of the rowing was all that broke the silence. As the still waters were turned, one stroke of the oars at a time, Tissaia found her thoughts began to wander. They were all together now, people who she cherished and loved, trusted allies and friends she had known for a long time. And together they were meant to defend the ruins of the elven keep until the Northern armies arrived, which could take several days. 

While their group was diverse and each individual was powerful in their own right, Tissaia wondered if they were truly up to the task. It was just like the Rectoress had said two centuries ago, in the little hut in Skellige. Witchers and sorcerers, together they held the fate of the Continent in their hands. Like every trainee who went through the annual, mostly ceremonial tasks, she had hoped to never have to carry that responsibility. But they did, and as the boats made landfall, she sucked in a breath and put herself to the task. 

~~~

“If Nilfgaard wanted to take the North, why would they expose themselves by sacking Cintra first?” Yennefer asked as she dragged the boat onto the pebbled shore, helping the only mage who looked as if he had brawn to go along with his brain. “Why wouldn't they just push through Sodden and surprise everyone?”

The dark haired mage wiped his hands on his tunic, then pushed his hair from his eyes as they began to make their way further up the beach. “I thought you were a witcher, not a military expert.”

“First, he speaks to her as though she’s not there, and then he loses a limb.” Yennefer scoffed as she glared at him through yellow eyes.

“You’re a talented fighter, An asset, to be sure. Despite being an…” Vilgefortz allowed his voice to trail off, swallowed by the sound of the waves as they battered against the shore.

With a smirk and a quirked brow, she finished his thought. “An inconvenient arsehole?”

“I couldn’t have said it better myself,” he said as they trudged along, joining Tissaia and the rest of the group as they waited for everyone to gather before continuing the journey. As they slowed their pace, he walked in front of her, turning to face her directly. “Why did you come?” 

Yennefer’s mind wandered back to the devastation she had witnessed personally. She had taken the issue much more lightly than she should have. It was only once she’d been in the trenches herself, did she understand. “Tissaia can be very convincing when she asks nicely,” she said as she brushed past him to follow the sorceress as she headed towards a path which led to a tree lined forest.

The path they had taken was long, winding and seemingly endless. But Tissaia led the way as if she had taken it a thousand times before. Pride welled up in her chest at the sight of her lover’s small frame leading the group to their destination with such conviction. One would never think a woman of her stature could carry such authority over magic, but she had seen the woman pull trees from the earth and unravel storms. Yet with that same magic, she had pulled her back from the brink of death more times than she would have liked to admit.

Together, they marched along, talking amongst themselves as the sun broke through the clouds, revealing that it was midday. Yennefer stepped away from Tissaia, falling back and walking beside Vilgefortz, ignoring the look she received from Sabrina who was walking with Triss. 

“We’ve been walking for hours and you still haven’t answered my question,” she said to the mage. “Why wouldn’t they just push through everything and take it all. They certainly have the army to do it.”

Carefully placing one foot in front of the next, Vilgefortz walked along in silent contemplation for a few moments. Yennefer wondered what kind of answer he seemed to be crafting in his head.

“If my military experience has taught me anything, it’s that the bigger picture is left for history, which makes our task very clear; hold Sodden, save the Continent. Are you in?”

Yennefer shrugged, still finding his answer to be somewhat vague, though she had never been a ‘bigger picture’ type of person. Most of her problems could be solved with a sword and a bit of brute force. “I wouldn’t be here if I wasn’t.”

Satisfied with the answer, she jogged ahead in order to catch up with Tissaia as the trees became sparse and opened up into a clearing which revealed the crumbling ruins of a structure which looked to be older than time itself. Around it was an encampment of more Cintran refugees, shoddy and listless. Yennefer found herself faltering in her steps, standing still on a rocky outcrop as the train of mages and witchers passed under her. 

“Is this what we're protecting?” she uttered in disbelief. Even from where she stood, she saw Tissaia’s strained sigh as the small sorceress turned to the rest of their group. 

“For hundreds of years, this keep has guarded the narrowest parts of the Yaruga River,” she said, gesturing to the thin bridge that ran over the river a ways to the right of the ruins. “Now it's the only thing standing between Nilfgaard and the North.”

They continued on their way, Yennefer caught up with her lover, surprised at just how quickly she could walk for a woman of her stature. As they made their way past the ragged tents that housed people with sunken eyes and gaunt faces, Tissaia continued to speak. 

“Such cruelty… It's Nilfgaard's way. There's nothing like a higher purpose to permit men to do the unspeakable. But it's all we have left, as the Rectoress said. We have to defend it.”

“That's heroic,” Sabrina mumbled, her voice not entirely sarcastic nor honest. 

Yennefer scoffed as she looked at the blonde woman, whose blue dress only barely covered what had to be covered. Only a sorceress would wear that kind of thing to battle. “And stupid. Take the children and hide before they get here.” 

“There is no more hiding from Nilfgaard.” Before there could be a quarrel, Tissaia solemnly ended the upcoming discussion between Yennefer and Sabrina, ushering them into what had once been the courtyard of the keep. 

Coral had just finished unloading a small cart she had been towing along since they had exited the boats. She piled several cloth-wrapped bundles onto a long table with the most care Yennefer had ever seen her display. Next to it, another bear witcher placed three reed baskets full of little glass bottles. Before Yennefer had the time to ask just what they were planning to do with those, Tissaia stepped up onto a staircase that led to the gallery of the keep. 

“We have a mere day until Nilfgaard will be upon us,” she said, inhaling deeply and smoothing her features. “So we must work swiftly. The plans that we have are not very complicated, but they will be efficient. Witchers, you will fortify the keep, fashion more arrows, sharpen the weapons of whoever is willing to fight and scout the terrain for other opportunities to strengthen our defences.”

Both wolf and bear school witchers nodded at Tissaia’s words. These were things they knew how to do well. 

“Mages, we will set up trapping spells in the afternoon, but first we must do our part in contributing to our armaments.” Stepping down from the stairs, Tissaia walked up to the wooden table, picking up a bottle and folding back the coverings of the other objects. Embedded in straw-lined crates lay heaps of blue crystals, one of which Tissaia carefully held up between her thumb and index finger. “I must admit that this idea came from one of my experiences with Yennefer. When we fought the wyvern queen of Temeria, she had brought something like what we will make today. The crystals are explosive, be careful when placing them into the vials.” 

She did so, then spoke a few words which caused the stones to glow briefly, then dim again. As Tissaia continued to talk to the mages, Yennefer leaned over in Philippa’s direction and asked her what the spell was. 

“It increases the potency of the crystals,” the lady-owl said. “They’re fairly rare, this was all we could get our hands on so soon.” 

Yennefer stepped aside as several witchers collectively rolled a large cart filled with various sizes of wood meant for crafting weapons and other reinforcements. Behind them were some of the villagers, most likely craftsmen, eager to help. 

She followed a group of them up a wooden staircase, each carried a tightly bundled set of arrows with them. The wood of the staircase creaked as she ascended to the platform which overlooked the clearing just outside of the gates. She peered over the crumbling walls into the quiet forest which surrounded the area, knowing it would not stay quiet for much longer.

“Is this all we have?” Anica asked a woman who was busy shifting bows into accessible positions against the wall, testing the bowstrings for integrity as she did so. She held out a handful of feathers, grumbling under her breath when the woman responded with a nod of her head.

“I’m afraid so,” she said as she pushed a bow in front of where Yennefer stood, causing the witcher to take a step back. “We tried to get more fletching but Nilfgaard blocked the roads, taking everything from us. Nothing left to do but wait for them to attack and hope it’s enough.”

“Here, let me see,” Philippa said as she approached from the far side of the platform with Coral, who carried a large reed basket full of the explosive vials.

Yennefer watched as Anica handed over the handful of feathers to the lady-owl. She turned them over in her hand a few times, casting an almost inquisitive look as she inspected them before uttering a few fluid words. A stifled gasp spilled from the woman as new shafts began to form and new barbs rippled outwardly until they were fully formed feathers, tripling the quantity she held in her hand.

“I wish I could do that,” Anica said as she took the feathers from Philippa’s hand.

“It’s magic, but very real,” Philippa said with an arched brow as she brushed past them and began to enchant each of the bows with a spell. Blue runes began to etch themselves along the upper and lower limbs of the bow, a gently pulsing glow radiated from them once complete. “This will help enhance their accuracy. Whatever you aim at, no matter how small, you shall hit.”

“Yennefer! Are you going to just stand around, walking from place to place and do nothing for the rest of the day? Or do I need to lift you up and throw you into action?” Coral’s voice and heavy accent penetrated the air, causing everyone on the platform to turn sharply in her direction, except Philippa who looked at Yennefer with a somewhat amused look. “Stop being lazy, come with me and help reinforce the door. I could use your help with the heavy timbers.” 

“She’ll do it,” Philippa drawled with a smirk as she continued with her enchantments.

“I know,” Yennefer grumbled as she headed to the stairwell, following Coral as she took long strides through the courtyard and to the door.

She stopped to hoist a heavy beam onto her shoulder, demanding Yennefer do the same. “The thing is falling apart, we need to strengthen it. If we had the time we could dig trenches and really fortify this place,” Coral said as she pressed on towards the only real gateway into the ancient fortress.

“But we don’t have that luxury,” Yennefer grunted quietly as she shifted the weight of the beam, determined not to allow the bear witcher the satisfaction of hearing her struggle under its oddly distributed weight.

“No, wolfie, we don’t.”

Once they had reached the door, Coral allowed the timber to slide from her shoulder and fall to the ground with a heavy thud. She quickly pulled back her foot to avoid crushing a toe. They then set to work repairing the door and reinforcing it so it couldn’t easily be battered down.

For the entire day, Yennefer aided in the fortifications. She had to, for every time she thought of stopping, she felt the eyes of Tissaia, Philippa or Coral in her neck. After wearing out her hands by sharpening countless mediocre weapons that the refugees had brought along, she and Doralis gave Triss and Vanielle some pointers as to where they could set up trapping spells, such as by the logical ways out of the forest. 

Towards the evening, she checked the distribution of bows, arrows and explosives in the west gallery, then made sure there was enough lumber to last the braziers near the guards through the night and then finally, she was done. 

For several moments, she stood on the repaired floor of the highest tower of the keep, which was still missing a roof. Beneath her in the courtyard, she heard a slow, mournful tune played on a hurdy-gurdy rise up into the night. It raised the hairs on her arms and neck, not because it was unpleasant to hear, but because she was very aware of the fact that tomorrow, she would risk her life to hold back Nilfgaard at all costs. 

“Yennefer, are you joining us soon?” Triss’ voice cut through her thoughts, her curly mop of hair appearing in the spiralling staircase. “There is food and drink, and I’m sure Tissaia would appreciate your company.” 

“In a moment,” Yennefer mumbled, leaning against the wall of the gallery. She didn’t feel much for a celebration before the battle was fought and she thought it was better to save her strength, but the prospect of spending more time with Tissaia made her more keen on descending from the tower. She too would put her life on the line soon, and the thought made Yennefer clench her hands into fists. No, that was not the way to think, she told herself. 

A few minutes later, she picked up a pie, a wooden spoon and a mug of ale, looking for Tissaia’s small form. First, she saw Triss and Sabrina standing together by a brazier, then Coral’s boisterous voice made it very clear where the bear witcher had situated herself. Only several seconds later did she see Tissaia. The sorceress sat on a low wall, digging into a pie of her own, carefully scooping out the hot filling so it didn’t soil her dress. 

“Enjoying your last meal?” Yennefer asked as she sat down next to her. 

Tissaia swallowed her bite, fixing the witcher with a very unimpressed stare as she said: “Must you always be so fatalistic?”

“It's only appropriate, seeing as we might die.” With a huff, Yennefer took a bite of her meal and washed it down with ale. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Tissaia’s form move a little closer, pressing their thighs together as the sorceress leaned into her a little. 

“All the more reason to live tonight.”

“ _Mmm_.” Yennefer drew up her eyebrows and quickly swallowed her mouthful of pie while laughing. “Like them.” 

She nodded at Coral and Philippa, who were nearly sprawled over each other’s laps. Their food lay forgotten next to them, while Coral’s hand had found its way somewhere underneath Philippa’s dress, and Philippa seemed to try to kiss Coral’s neck. 

Yennefer and Tissaia both chuckled as Philippa seemed to come to her senses and batted Coral’s hands away, then dragged the witcher to her feet and vanished into the darkness somewhere. 

Tissaia turned to Yennefer, suddenly once again serious. “So, are you ready? To die?”

In times past, Yennefer might have answered yes. With every contract she took on, there was a chance she could die, that the monster is too strong or that she will miss the killing blow. Yet now, with Tissaia, she felt less ready to die than she had ever. “No,” she said, surprising herself with the soft tone of her voice. “I've lived two or three lifetimes without you-” 

“But you haven't been satisfied in any of them,” Tissaia finished the sentence, reaching out with a hand that was still warm from the earthenware pie dish she had held. She knew, and her knowing eyes looked deep into Yennefer’s before she closed them and leaned against the witcher’s shoulder. She took a deep drink of ale, her body moving as she swallowed and sighed after that. 

“I've tried. But I've no legacy to leave behind. No real family. Perhaps now, in this battle, I could try to be remembered for good.” Yennefer laid her arm on the small of Tissaia’s back, relishing the warmth that the sorceress gave off. “To show that I have more to give.” 

Tissaia’s answer was near instantaneous. She drew back from Yennefer, grasping both of her lover’s hands and squeezing them as she said: “You still have so much left to give.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the first of 3 chapters that we really enjoyed writing. 
> 
> We have some fun things in store for the coming few chapters! Including an extra bit of Greypaws' narration with music (managed by Braz) and an impromptu podcast with aftertalks and fun facts about the story.


	32. Chapter 32

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter has a lot of bonuses!!   
> It has soundtrack, and on top of that it has 30 minutes of bonus audio in which you hear:   
> 1\. Both of our voices including braz's ~lovely~ speech impediment   
> 2\. Greypaws reading some of this chapter with music

[Greypaws](https://soundcloud.com/user-100350749) · [Still Waters Chapter 32](https://soundcloud.com/user-100350749/still-waters-chapter-32)

_(Narration by Greypaws!)_

[brazenedMinstrel](https://soundcloud.com/user-768938233) · [Still Waters - Have You Heard [The Battle of Sodden]](https://soundcloud.com/user-768938233/still-waters-have-you-heard-the-battle-of-sodden)

_(Soundtrack by brazenedMinstrel!)_

* * *

The evening had waned into night, fires eventually died down to nothing more than scorched embers which carried a glow about as faint as the hope they carried in their hearts. The unknown lingered in the air, a fear that even with everything they had done, it wouldn’t be enough to stop the Nilfgaardian army once they decided to advance. 

Tissaia had tried to rest, knowing the battle which would certainly ensue was going to take all of her focus. But sleep evaded her. It did not, however, evade Yennefer as the witcher had an arm slung over her small frame while they cuddled together in a sleeping bag, covered by an additional blanket. She sighed and closed her eyes, allowing the peaceful breaths her lover took to soothe her. 

“You’ll have to fall asleep eventually,” Yennefer mumbled against Tissaia’s back.

“I was convinced you were already sleeping,” Tissaia replied, rolling over until they were face to face.

“I was sleeping until Coral and Philippa started up again. This is the curse of having exceptional hearing,” Yennefer grumbled as she rolled her eyes, eliciting a soft chuckle from Tissaia.

“Something I am relieved I cannot hear,” Tissaia replied as she rolled back over onto her side, situating herself against Yennefer’s body until she was comfortable enough to try for a bit more rest before the morning.

Her body finally began to relax as the sounds of the night began to pull her into a dreamworld. White flames burned hot before her and she could feel the heat of it dancing across her skin, even as she backed away. Behind her, Tissaia watched as the Yaruga river swallowed the keep, devouring its stone walls with ease before creeping closer to her. She tried to run but she found she could not move. She cast a shield around herself, then heard a voice, low and determined.  _ ‘We have magic too. Without rules, or restrictions. And I will use it to personally deplete you until you are empty and powerless.’ _

Tissaia’s eyes shot open with a gasp, a sheen of sweat clung to her brow. Before she could utter a single word, she felt the fabric of chaos tightening and shifting around her. Her eyes looked to the sky and beheld a large flaming ball of fire as it descended upon them. An unearthly screeching sound resonated from it as it tumbled at a substantial rate directly towards them.

She threw the blanket from her body and stood with her arms to the sky. The strain was tremendous as she used her magic to slow the incoming inferno to a halt. Through her gritted teeth, she cried out to Yennefer. The light from the flames illuminated the encampment, revealing that the witcher was already pulling herself to her feet.

“Get up! Everyone up! Move!!” Yennefer shouted as she pulled those who slumbered nearby to their feet, ordering them to take shelter.

Tissaia felt her legs tremble as she gathered her strength, she uttered an elven phrase then focused her magic, hurling the ball of fire into the night as far away from their current location as possible. She stumbled forward but was able to steady herself before she fell.

Her eyes widened as she saw another ball of glowing light off in the distance. It shot up from the horizon then began to arc towards them. “Take cover, there is another!”

“Tissaia!” Vanielle called out as she rushed to her side, followed by Philippa who transformed from an owl into her human form, landing on the other side of Tissaia amidst a flurry of feathers. 

Together they intercepted the second attack, holding the fireball in the sky until they were able to throw it far off into the night. Tissaia could feel the darkness of the magic Nilfgaard had used in order to create these weapons.

“They’ve no regard for any of the rules governing the use of dark magic,” Philippa said as she looked at Vanielle in an accusatory manor.

“No, sadly they do not. They used the life force of a powerful mage to create these, they won’t stop there,” the former Nilfgaardian mage said, trembling where she stood.

“They are testing our defenses and gauging our strength. They want to know if we have what it takes to hold them off. We should get out of the open and behind these walls, then ready ourselves for an attack,” Tissaia said, her eyes locked onto the edge of the forest where the magic had originated.

Nothing else came from beyond the treeline until the sun had risen, and eventually they could not hide and wait anymore. Staying low, they rushed out to the ruined wall that encircled the lands around the keep. There was no reason to stay quiet, because Nilfgaard already knew they were there, but they could at least try to be relatively inconspicuous, not giving away just where in the ruins they currently resided. 

“Maybe that was it,” Coral suggested, peering into the dark forest to no avail. 

Vanielle clutched the wall, determined not to come into view with even a hair on her head. “No,” she quietly said. “Fringilla is just getting started.” 

For several moments, Yennefer did not quite understand the terror she saw in the woman’s eyes. But when she turned to the forest again, a hand on the handle of her steel sword, she heard a great rumbling off in the distance. A cloud of dust began to rise from between the trees, one only capable of being kicked up by a large army. 

“How is Nilfgaard’s army here already?” Sabrina uttered in disbelief. “They were far from us at night, I saw the shape of the arc of those fireballs.” 

Tissaia moved from her hidden position, crouched by Coral’s large shape. “That does not matter, we have to act now. Sabrina, you take the villagers to the artillery room.” Placing her hand on the blonde sorceress’ shoulder, Tissaia gave her an encouraging pat before turning to the mage’s partner. “Triss, come with me.” 

“I’ll come with you to guard-” 

“No, Yennefer, you must keep watch on the tower,” Tissaia said, laying her hand on top of the witcher’s, which was about to draw her sword. “Sabrina needs a good set of eyes to help her group’s aim, Coral and Anica are taking the rest of the witchers in two groups to the battlefield to intercept the soldiers who get through all the spells we set up.” 

Before Yennefer could think of protesting, Tissaia pressed forward, her lips brushing fleetingly over Yennefer’s before she drew away and hurried off into the encroaching mist. 

Up in the tower, Yennefer trailed over her own lips with a finger before she sighed and put herself to her task. The nagging thought of that kiss being a goodbye kiss would not leave her mind, even when she focused on the sound of distant footsteps. 

“Sabrina, they’re closing in!” she called out. “To your left, quarter turn, shoot. But hurry, they’re not far.” 

Soon, a dry snapping sound permeated the air, like a dozen lute strings breaking. The faint whistling of the arrows was music to Yennefer’s ears, and she curiously followed the glass bottles with explosives which preceded the arrows by a foot or so. Then she saw where Philippa’s spell came into effect, as every arrow corrected its trajectory by a fraction to hit the crystals. A hundred explosive fragments flew outwards when they hit their mark, multiplying the damage greatly. 

Another group of soldiers was about to exit the forest, but Yennefer saw the two figures of Tissaia and Triss stand in their path, so she figured it was taken care of. Continuing to instruct Sabrina and her archers, she shot worried looks to the area every now and then. A cloud of white fumes rose from the place shortly after, accompanied by the sound of dozens of soldiers choking as foam filled their throats. 

“Coral, soldiers straight ahead, and they’re moving fast.” Yennefer wanted nothing but to join the other witchers in combat, but she realised that Tissaia was purposefully reserving her for later. Thus she had to watch as Coral’s group sprung out of hiding and ambushed the regimen of Nilfgaardians, easily outmatching them in speed and strength. 

There was a certain amount of glee on Coral’s face as her broad-bladed sword hewed through the soldiers. Payment for almost drowning her and her lover on the fifty Skelligan ships. There were more soldiers behind the first group, but before the last witcher had pulled their sword free, an owl flew over their heads. Philippa transformed, her face a mask of pure anger as she reached into the air with an arm, gripping and crushing the throat of every single Nilfgaardian soldier who dared to march towards her. She panted from the exhaustive effort, a drip of blood coming from her nose. Not that Coral cared, kissing her fiercely on the mouth right then and there. 

Yennefer averted her eyes, for she did not care to see that. 

“Sabrina, prepare another shot. Half turn to your right,” she said. “But wait until they’re in range.” The soldiers’ footsteps echoed in her ears, but Yennefer could see them moving through the trees. They were too far from the keep still. “Hold!” 

Seconds ticked by as she waited for them to step into the range of the archers. These people trusted her completely, dependent on her witcher sight to spot the enemies before their own eyes could see them. “Now, pull!” Yennefer shouted, watching tensely as the group of soldiers was thrown into disorder under the barrage of explosive projectiles. 

From the corner of her eye, she saw Vilgefortz portal away. She wanted to shout a question across the fort, if anyone knew what he was up to. But before she could do so, the ruin suddenly shook. With a curse, Yennefer gripped onto the railing of the tower, holding on as the gate creaked and shuddered in its rusted hinges. 

_ How?  _ She furiously thought.  _ How did they break through?  _

She unsheathed her sword and ran from the tower downwards, ready to leap into the courtyard to stop the soldiers. The door was thrown open, the reinforcements she helped build splintered like they mattered nothing as mist poured in through the now ruined gates.    
  
“They’ve breached the gate!” she called out as she was once again nearly thrown off her feet by a shift of the energies in the courtyard. This one, however, she recognized. A pull that sucked the air towards it. A portal began to swirl into being, dislodging the rubble of the ruin. “Take cover!” Yennefer shouted, knowing it couldn’t be a good sign. 

And she was right. Moments later, arrows flew out in all directions, several pinning themselves into the wood where Yennefer had been standing seconds ago. She was still panting when the portal closed and it was safe enough to run into the courtyard. With her sword in hand, she scanned the area for movement. 

Many bodies lay on the ground, riddled with arrows and blood. But many more came out of hiding, only lightly injured or merely very shaken. From the opposite side of the gallery, Vanielle descended the stairs in a hurry, kneeling down by the wounded to tend to them. A somewhat relieved laugh spilled from Yennefer’s mouth. Even the cowardly, formerly Nilfgaardian mage could be useful in battle. 

From the gates, a group of figures stepped through. But as they approached, Yennefer lowered her weapon, staring at them completely baffled. It was Coral and her group of witchers. 

“Where are the Nilfgaardian soldiers?” Yennefer sharply asked as she walked up to them. 

“Why are the gates down, wolfie?” Coral fired back. 

“I don’t know, they were blasted open when I was on the tower. Did you not see it?” 

“I was on the battlefield, hurrying back here like Tissaia told us to do.” 

“Tissaia…” Yennefer echoed, looking into Coral’s green-yellow eyes as she tried to make sense of it. “We need Tissaia, she’d be able to figure out what the hell just happened here. You stay here, I’ll find her.” 

She shoved her way past Coral, clenching her sword more tightly as she made her way towards the open gates. She kicked something metallic out of the way, which rolled through the dust on the ground for a few moments before coming to a halt. Something cold touched along Yennefer’s ankle, itching inside her boot. She bent down to get rid of it, for she could have no distractions in this battle. But her hand stilled in the middle of the movement, her mind going blank as she turned back to the courtyard. 

~~~

“Hey, watch it wolfie! And where are you going? I thought you were going to find Tissaia,” Coral shouted as she recovered from Yennefer’s shove, surprised when the other witcher turned around and reentered the courtyard. 

Mumbling under her breath about Yennefer’s uselessness, she inspected the gate. It was far too damaged to be repaired quickly without assistance. She kicked a splintered plank aside out of frustration, watching as it collided with the wall and broke apart even further. Her lip curled back into a disgusted snarl when she noticed a few worms writhing about beneath where the wood had been. Crushing one with the heel of her boot, she turned to find Yennefer again.

“Get back here, help me fix this gate before the army arrives!”

Coral’s eyes widened in shock as she watched the wolf witcher stalking after Vanielle, who was still assisting the wounded, with sword in hand. She called out to the mage, who raised her eyes just in time to halt Yennefer’s blade with a shielding spell before it descended upon her.

Her movements were ungainly, even for the wolf witcher. Side by side they had fought the leshen, chiseling away at it until the woodland creature had been felled. Yet now, each strike she took at the mage looked less like her own. “Nilfgaard sorcery,” she angrily spouted as she squared up and rushed towards the witcher.

Vanielle staggered back as Yennefer’s blows against her shields began to cause fissures to form, fragmenting the arcane magic further with each strike. Around her, others began to draw their weapons and advance towards the raging witcher. In her own hand, she gathered magic for an offensive spell, but held it as only a last resort.

“Do not harm her!” Vanielle cried out as she reinforced her shields. “It’s not her, this is Fringilla’s work. She’s after me, but the spell can be broken.”

Coral growled and lowered her right shoulder, tightly gripping the sword in her hand and pulling her arm flush against her chest so as not to hurt the wolf too badly. She curled in on herself and impacted against Yennefer like a battering ram. The mind controlled witcher turned just before the collision, drawing the sharp edge of her sword across the bear witcher’s leg before it was flung from her hand during the ungraceful tumble to the ground they both took together.

“Yennefer, you have to stop,” Coral said through gritted teeth as she wrestled with the witcher. She cursed under her breath as a lock of her own fiery red hair fell into her eyes and she tossed her own sword to the side in order to get a better grip on the struggling wolf witcher. A barrage of curse words spilled from her lips as she made an attempt to roll onto her side and felt an intense shock of pain spread across the wound on her leg as it dragged across the ground. The pain was made worse as Yennefer struggled, effectively kicking her in the calf, just next to the injury.

Despite the fact that her mind had been overtaken by Nilgaardian sorcery, Yennefer’s strength still remained and Coral fought hard to try and gain the upper hand over her. To her advantage, however, it did not appear that Fringilla was able to utilize any of the witcher signs.

A huff of wind was forcefully pushed from Yennefer’s lungs as Coral kneed her in the stomach. As the possessed witcher curled inwardly, clutching her abdomen as she tried to recover, Coral scrambled over her. She wrapped an arm around her neck in the process and tightened her grip in order to constrict her airway.

The gasps which resonated from her throat soon turned into hoarse and jagged cries of desperation as both her airway and the flow of blood to her head became restricted. Her hands tore at Coral’s arm but she maintained her hold around the wolf witcher’s neck.

“Just pass out already,” Coral uttered through gritted teeth.

Releasing her grip on Coral’s forearm, Yennefer elbowed her in the ribcage then scrambled to her feet. The bear witcher reached out, and grabbed onto her ankle as she made a move in the direction of her sword. With one swift pull, she yanked the wolf witcher back, watching with satisfaction as Yennefer fell to one knee. The move bought her enough time to clumsily rise to her feet.

Once again, Yennefer tried for her sword. Coral grabbed onto the witcher’s shoulder through a handful of dark hair and spun her around to face her. She drew back her left hand, fingers curled into a tight fist, hesitating momentarily before swinging her arm in a hooking motion and landing a punch square on her jaw.

She sucked in a breath through the grimace she wore as Yennefer’s yellow eyes rolled to the back of her head and she fell to the ground with a heavy thud, causing a cloud of dust to rise into the air. Coral’s chest heaved, her ribs still sore from the blow, as she tried to catch her breath.

“You know, I had always thought about doing that, but not like this,” Coral exasperated as she leaned down to check on Yennefer. After a few light slaps to the cheek to attempt to rouse the witcher, the unconscious woman's head fell to the side, revealing the dark tail of a worm protruding from her ear and writhing about.

The sight caused Coral to cringe and withdraw her hand for a brief moment before she gathered herself and carefully pulled the worm from her ear. She crushed it in her hand and tossed it far from their location.

Yennefer’s eyes blinked open and she groaned, frowning as she sat up and rubbed her jaw. “What… what happened? Why am I… “ Yennefer said, trailing off as she looked at her surroundings.

“I’ll tell you the story later,” Coral said as she stood, offering a hand to Yennefer then pulling her to her feet. “You may want to ice that jaw later as well.”

“I have to find Tissaia first.” Yennefer groaned softly as she brought a hand up to her forehead. “Sorry,” she said to Vanielle. “Should’ve listened to you when you said Fringilla wasn’t done with us yet.” 

Still reeling a bit from Coral’s left hook, she stumbled towards the gates. She  _ had  _ to find Tissaia. Tissaia would know what to do now, as the entire battle seemed to be devolving into chaos. “Philippa!” she called out, seeing the owl mage furiously fighting nearby. “Where’s Tissaia?” 

“She went into the forest!” Philippa shouted back before casting a spell that turned up the earth in a circle around her and threw all nearby soldiers off their feet. 

The forest was damp and misty. A viscous mist that seemed to cling to every surface, including Yennefer’s clothing as she rushed through it, sword still in hand. Her jaw ached, her head ached and her throat still burned from Coral’s grip. 

“Tissaia!” she yelled, desperately searching between the dark trees for any sign of her lover. Behind every tree, she expected to see the small figure dutifully setting up defensive spells, and every little sound she heard seemed to be Tissaia’s soft footsteps. But none were, and Yennefer felt fear curdle in her chest as she had rarely felt before. 

But her answer did come. It came in the form of words she picked up with her enhanced hearing, whispered on the wind, far away. 

_ “You’re worth more than Nilfgaard could ever give you.”  _

_ Tissaia _ . 

Yennefer began to run in the direction of the voice, only to come to a slipping halt. Between the misty trunks of the trees stood Tissaia and Fringilla. The sorceresses circled each other as they spoke, until Tissaia held still and Fringilla turned. Her dress was nearly the same colour as the mist around her, making it seem as if she shrouded herself within it. As she slowly moved away from Tissaia, her back towards the smaller woman, she now faced Yennefer. 

It was impossible for her not to see the witcher, who lifted her sword and slowly approached, wary of Fringilla’s power. This was not the timid girl she had been paired with during their tasks in Skellige. This was not the meek apprentice who had broken her hand and cried while Yennefer had rushed towards the end goal. Every inch of this woman now spoke of power and poise, just as Tissaia had always seemed to be as well. Until Yennefer had unravelled her carefully crafted exterior.    
  
“ _ You _ are too late, lady-witcher,” Fringilla said icily, her hands entering her pockets in a slow, almost lazy gesture. 

“And you murdered countless people in Cintra, sank the ships in Skellige and now you want to push through to the rest of the Continent,” Yennefer seethed. “We won’t let you.” 

“Perhaps not, but I will, regardless of you or her.” 

Though Yennefer broke into a sprint and readied her sword for attack, she could never have been on time. There was too much distance between her and the two sorceresses. As she lifted her steel blade above her head and prepared to swing, she saw the events before her unfold with chilling clarity, as if time slowed down just for her to witness it in all its horror. 

Fringilla pulled her hands from her pockets, one with the fingertips pinched together for a spell, the other holding something. She spun, her dress flowing behind her like quicksilver. Then she opened her hand and threw the contents towards Tissaia. A black cloud of fine flakes billowed outwards, enveloping the sorceress’ face. 

Yennefer felt a raw cry spill from her mouth, burning in the back of her throat. The ground beneath Fringilla spun as a portal whisked her away, but Yennefer scarcely cared, because Tissaia uttered a horrible gasp as she fell to her knees. 

She grasped for her stomach, then her chest and then her throat, her hands clawing at the collar of her dress as her breath wheezed. Flakes of metal glistened on her lips and in her nostrils as she looked up at Yennefer with desperate, fearful eyes. Just when the witcher fell to her knees beside her and caught her shaking form, the first flecks of blood splattered over her lips with a raspy cough. 

“Tissaia!  _ Tissaia _ , what has she done to you?” Yennefer called out in panic as she pulled her lover upright and wound an arm around her to support her. The terrible gasping and choking continued, Tissaia’s body jolting from the force of it. Her every breath rasped and Yennefer realized that, to her horror, Tissaia could barely breathe. 

She laid her small form onto the wet leaves of the forest floor, positioning her on her side to ease her breathing. It was the position that Coral had told her about in her tale of Tissaia’s past, and Yennefer was painfully reminded of that when she saw Tissaia’s shaking left hand clench in the fabric by her heart. 

“What has she done? Tell me, Tissaia, tell me  _ please.  _ What has she done to you?” 

The sound which came from Tissaia’s mouth was nothing like she had ever heard before, as if her throat was collapsing in on itself. Her lips mouthed a word, just barely, one Yennefer could not understand, try as she might.

Yennefer felt her eyes burning, as if they had been scorched by the flames of the sun. It was a foreign sensation, one which she did not understand until she saw the tear fall from her own eye, landing on Tissaia’s face, where it mixed with the sorceress's blood. Ribbons of crimson spread throughout the droplet and Yennefer let out an unrestrained sob at the sight of it.

As she leaned over her lover’s body, so frail and damaged, a lock of her silver hair fell into her eyes. With what little strength the sorceress could muster, she made an attempt to reach for the tangled tresses, though her trembling hand never made it very far. It fell to the wet leaves with a muted thud as her eyes, red and unfocused, were desperately searching for something.

“I’m right here Tissaia, I’m with you but I don’t know what to do,” Yennefer said as she swallowed thickly, wiping some of the shimmering flakes from her mouth and nose. Combined with the blood, it took on the appearance similar to that of dirt. “I don’t know what this is.”

She fumbled through every pouch she had, finding nothing but empty vials and potions which would not do a bit of good for the fallen mage. The battle had been too long and harsh and she had depleted her supply of healing draught. A sharp wheeze through Tissaia’s constricting airway grabbed her attention and Yennefer fell beside her lover, pressing her ear against soft lips to hear what it was Tissaia was trying to tell her.

It took several attempts before Tissaia was able to choke out a single, fragmented word. One which made Yennefer’s already frigid blood freeze in her veins.

“Di… di… meritium.”

The witcher inhaled sharply through her teeth as she drew herself back and rested on her knees in disbelief. For she had heard of the rare alloy used to incapacitate the magical abilities of mages, suppressing their ability to cast any kind of spell and bringing along an entire array of unpleasant side effects as well. But the bluish metal had almost always been either crafted into shackles, or in the rare instance a necklace. In all of her long years, she had never heard of it being used in this way, as a powder to be inhaled and thrown into the eyes.

“Go,” Tissaia whispered, a sickly cough followed. “Leave me.”

“No!” Yennefer said as she slipped her arms underneath the sorceress, pulling her small frame tight against her chest. “The Northern Kingdoms are close, we can’t give up.”

She watched a trickle of blood spill from her nose, a sheen of sweat now decorated her brow, her usually pristine hair was unwinding itself from her bun. With a hopeless look, the sorceress slowly blinked, looking away from Yennefer as she hoisted her up effortlessly.

“You… you saved me,” she said as she began to make her way back to the fort. “In more ways than one, you’ve saved me. I won’t let you go.”

“It’s your turn, to save these people,” Tissaia said, pausing to take a jagged breath. “To save this Continent. This is your legacy.”

“The Continent means fuck all if you’re not in it. I can’t do this without you,” Yennefer said as she quicked her pace. The sound of explosions and battle cries filled the air. The Nilfgaardian army was still there, encroaching upon the last vestiges of hope.

“You can…” Tissaia uttered, a pained sound resonated from her lips as she clutched at her abdomen.

“I won’t,” Yennefer said as she staggered into the fortress, stumbling over a heap of fabric in the entrance to the keep that she hadn’t recalled being there before. As she made her way past the bloodied and wounded, her eyes drifted to the highest tower in the keep. Atop it resided Philippa and Vanielle, working together to call out orders to the few remaining fighters and directing the battle. She heard Philippa cry out in agony, yet could see little injury on the sorceress herself, then watched as she shifted into her owl form and took to the sky, vanishing quickly into the sheets of mist and smoke.

Making her way to the most intact and sheltered portion of the keep she could find, Yennefer carefully kneeled down with Tissaia in her arms then placed her on the ground, laying her on her side once again to aid her as she took laboured breaths. She assisted her lover as she reached out with a trembling hand, placing it against her cheek and holding it there, leaning into the touch. She savoured the feeling, knowing that it couldn't last for long. 

“Everything you have ever felt, everything you’ve buried,” Tissaia said as she managed enough strength to move her hand from Yennefer’s cheek in order to trail a gloved finger along the length of the scar on the witcher’s face. “Forget control, let your chaos explode.”

* * *

[brazenedMinstrel](https://soundcloud.com/user-768938233) · [Still Waters Chapter 32 - Aftertalks and Commentary](https://soundcloud.com/user-768938233/still-waters-chapter-32-aftertalks-and-commentary)

_(BONUS commentary! By the both of us)_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> please listen to the aftertalks and commentary, we're proud of our impromptu podcast lol


	33. Chapter 33

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sodden pt.2

[Greypaws](https://soundcloud.com/user-100350749) · [Still Waters Chapter 33](https://soundcloud.com/user-100350749/still-waters-chapter-33)

_(narration by Greypaws!)_

* * *

“I can’t. I already let you get hurt once, in our battle against the wyvern. You almost died then, and I won’t let that happen again,” Yennefer said. She sat down next to Tissaia, laying her hand on her lover’s side as she carefully watched her for any further signs of injury. The sorceress’ breath came heavily, her ribcage straining under Yennefer’s hand as her blood mixed with the dirt of the courtyard. 

“Yennefer, you- ” Tissaia cringed and cut herself off. Every word seemed to pain her. “You might be their only chance.” 

“I left you once to suffer alone and I will not do it again,” the witcher insisted. Then, before she could argue further, there was a shouting by the demolished gates. 

From the smoke and mist, Yennefer could vaguely discern Triss as she ran towards the exit of the ruined castle, her dress fluttering behind her. Sabrina followed closely, though she seemed dazed as she stumbled about. They returned with two more figures in between them, staggering from side to side as they were guided to the back of the courtyard. Yennefer’s eyes widened in shock when she recognized the bloodied forms of Coral and Philippa. 

Never had she seen the bear witcher so weakened. Coral’s skin was ashen, her legs trembled and her knees gave out before she was guided to sit. Yennefer felt the impact of Coral’s body shake the ground a little, and when she saw how Triss was unable to prevent her from falling face-first onto the ground and Philippa looked ready to faint as well, she got up to help them. 

She felt Philippa’s eyes on her when she approached, even though the lady owl was searching for support by Sabrina, barely able to stand on her own. “Don’t harm her further,” she weakly said to Yennefer. 

Yennefer had seen her share of gore in her life. She had seen the mess that her own chest had become after her fight with the forktail, she had seen Istredd’s blade run her clean through and she had experienced her own share of messy kills. Still, she felt her stomach give an unpleasant twitch when she stepped close enough to Coral to see her wound. 

It looked as if a heavy blade, one of an axe or a longsword, had hewn into her upper arm, splintering the bone and tearing the flesh beyond repair. The arm was severed a few inches above her elbow, the injury red and raw. Blood soaked the witcher’s side, drenching her chainmail and leather. 

When Yennefer used all her strength to tug her upright by the straps of her armour, Coral’s full weight came to rest onto her body. She groaned from the effort to drag Coral just a few paces away, resting her with her back against the wall, just next to Tissaia. Near immediately, she was shoved aside by Philippa, who none too gently slapped Coral on the cheek before she tore a strip off her dress to staunch the bleeding of her lover’s severed arm. 

For a few moments, Yennefer could only stare dumbly at it all. Tissaia was unconscious, near death. Coral was incapacitated. Sabrina had collapsed against an upturned cart that laid closeby, looking as if she was severely concussed, no bow or arrows in sight. Vanielle had her hands full with caring for the wounded, and the few living fighters Yennefer saw in the courtyard all looked listless and scared. 

She truly thought it couldn’t get any worse when someone shouted that the Nilfgaardians were almost at the gates. 

“I will hold it!” Triss called out before turning to Yennefer. “Rally everyone. The Northern armies are almost here, we must hold out.” 

“How do you know that?” Yennefer asked, feeling the energy drain out of her muscles as she thought of another battle. 

Triss pressed her lips together as her frown deepened, shaking her head. “I hope it.” 

She sped off then, calling upon her magic as vines snaked up from the ground, shutting the broken gates and entangling the planks in a network of toughened wood. But she was tired too, and had to put all of her energy into her spell. So much so that she didn’t notice the single Nilfgaardian who had gotten through before she closed the gate. Though his feet were tangled in the vines that would soon cover and suffocate him, he threw the torch he held towards Triss. Her dress and hair caught fire, a shrill scream sounding from her throat as she stumbled backwards. 

One of the few remaining villagers caught her, putting out the flames with her sleeves, but the damage was already done. Another mage down, the skin of her throat and chest burned too far for her to continue fighting. Behind her, the soldier almost freed himself from the vines when a throwing knife pierced his left eye socket and he lifelessly fell forward. 

Yennefer whipped around to see where the knife had come from. On the stairway from the gallery stood one of the three younger witchers, Glacella. Her face was flushed as she descended the final few steps until she stood beside Yennefer. 

“What now?” she asked her. “We can’t get more people from Kaer Morhen, the armies aren’t here yet…” 

“Have you been in Skellige?” Yennefer said, looking at the shapes of Coral, Tissaia, Philippa and Sabrina. All powerful people in their own right, but all defeated and some only just clinging onto life. 

Glacella nodded. “ _ Mhmm _ , just last year.” 

“What did they tell you there, the Rectoress of Aretuza, Vesemir and that giant woman of the bear school?” 

“That we held the fate of the Continent in our hands.” 

“Except no one believes that,” Yennefer said. “No one believes that, not a single witcherling or an apprentice mage. I sure didn’t, Coral and Philippa didn’t, I doubt Tissaia even did. But we do now. If you’d get your two friends, we’ll make a stand.” 

She sighed deeply, drawing her sword to give her words strength. “One more battle.” 

Those words she repeated to every individual in the castle who was in any state to fight. To the mages who had increments of power left within them, to the villagers who she instructed to pick up their sharpest weapons and fight for what was to remain theirs. There weren’t many. In the few minutes that she had, Yennefer gathered thirty or so people. 

Then she went to Tissaia, because where else could she have gone. Someone had propped up her head with one of Coral’s pauldrons. The blood that still dripped from her nostrils ran down the metal surface of it, into the earth of the ruin. Her breath came slowly, a difficult inhale and a shuddering exhale. But still, her eyes slowly blinked open when Yennefer knelt down beside her. 

“This might be it, Tissaia,” she softly said. “This might be the… the last time.” 

Her throat clenched when she said that, speaking the words that had been ruminating in her head into existence. 

Tissaia nodded against the cool metal of the piece of armour her head laid on, smearing blood over her chin. Her hair maintained a semblance of the neat bun it had been in during the day, though most of it laid outspread around her shoulders. “It’s dark,” she whispered, showing the blood inside her mouth and around her teeth as she spoke. And she was right. Night had fallen around Sodden. “Yenna… I want to feel you. If this is indeed the last time.” 

Yennefer pulled her lover upright, resting her against her chest, with Tissaia’s head on her shoulder. She felt the small, frail form sob, every shock of it threatening to make tears spill over her cheeks as well. With a hand, she smoothed out Tissaia’s hair, then pushed her face against the sorceress’ neck to feel the warmth of that still so very human body. 

Tissaia’s eyes were almost closed when Yennefer drew away, the blue barely visible behind her lashes as she tried to smile. It was still the same smile, the one that started with a purse of Tissaia’s lips, then twitched the corners of her mouth outwards. 

Yennefer kissed her then, because she knew nothing else to do. Her lover’s lips no longer moved against her own, stilled from exhaustion and pain. Their kiss tasted of blood and the bitterness of the dimeritium that poisoned Tissaia’s body. It didn’t last long, because Yennefer knew there was no more time. 

She felt another pair of eyes on her. Coral, looking on as Yennefer laid Tissaia down once again. Her severed arm was bandaged, though blood was soaking through the wrappings already. Most of her armour had been removed, leaving her in her padding and her thick cloak, and even then she shivered. 

“I would give you my bardiche, but it’s lying on the bottom of the sea,” she slowly said, trying for a tired smile that made one corner of her mouth tick upwards. “I have this, though. For if your sword breaks, wolfie.” 

With her intact elbow, she moved her cape aside a little, nodding with her head for Yennefer to take the single throwing axe that she carried in her belt. All she had left, and now Yennefer took it and fixed it behind her own belt. 

She stood up, scanning around the courtyard for anything else she could use. The flickering fires that smouldered everywhere gave her an idea. She grabbed one of the lanterns that hung from a chain above the little enclave where they had given the wounded shelter. Just as she was about to get up, Philippa pulled herself to her feet and stumbled a few steps in her direction. 

“Give me that,” she said, reaching for the lantern. Along its surface, runes began to spread and the fire flickered before increasing in heat and glow. Then Philippa let go, falling sideways, barely catching herself on her hands and feet before shuffling backwards to sit between Tissaia and Coral, her back against the wall. 

“Take care of them,” Yennefer said to her, caring nor wanting to hear her answer as she turned and walked towards the gate. 

She led her group of fighters outside, finding only corpses in the vicinity of the ruins. Further back, she heard the field marshals shouting commands to the soldiers. They were gearing up for one final assault. But so was she. 

_(Art by Greypaws)_

They stood together, side by side, in a line just outside the gates. Though it was dark, their eyes were well adapted to be able to see in these conditions, but what they saw would have easily caused an ordinary man to shudder. Nilfgaardian troops had taken formation just along the treeline of the forest, the only thing separating them now was the open field directly before them.

She looked to her left, scanning over the faces of the wolf witchers who were still able to fight. To her right stood the remaining bear witchers, each with weapons clenched tightly in hand, a few carried heavy shields.

“We must hold this line. We cannot allow them to pass,” Yennefer said as she stepped forward a few paces, the lantern swaying in her hand like a pendulum. “But pair up, wolves and bears, to balance the fighting styles. Then fan out just a bit. Remember, we are stronger and faster than their soldiers, and can cover more ground while fighting.”

Yennefer had recalled how effective the combination of her swift strikes, paired with Coral’s strong attacks and much more defensive stance, had been when they fought the Leshen together. She could only hope that here, in this most dire time, it would be just as effective as well.

As the group adjusted and the line of them now reflected a mix of witchers of the bear and wolf school standing together, a horn sounded and the soldiers began to advance upon them.

Any feelings of fear or doubt faded as she heard the sound of their boots and the clanking of their armour growing louder with each step. They were greatly outnumbered, but they had been molded by their witcher trials into fighters, devoid of emotion, and that was what they were now. Killing was what they were created to do, and Yennefer had long since learned that man was the greatest monster of them all.

The horn sounded again, twice this time, and the army began to shout collectively as they charged them. “Hold the line!” Yennefer called out as the gap between them closed. “One last battle!” She reminded them, hearing her warcry being shouted back from each and every witcher.

The cries were lost in the clattering of swords against shields and blades against blades as the Nilfgaardians slammed into their line. Yennefer raised her arm, swinging the chain above her head, striking an incoming soldier across the face. His helmet flew from his head and he screamed as the heated metal and flames scorched his face. She repeated the motion, taking out another soldier who had been behind him.

Next to her, Anica fought hard with Gerd, who used his shield to slam into the incoming foes, pushing them back as the wolf then danced around him. With a blade in each hand she struck them down, streaks of blood arcing through the air as she spun from one throat to the next. A heap of bodies began to collect at their feet and they pulled back, for every soldier they slayed, two more had taken their place.

“Fola!” Yennefer shouted as a Nilfgaardian battlemage cast a fire spell at the young witcher, scorching the entire right side of her face. She staggered back with a yelp, but continued to fight regardless of the smouldering flesh. With a quick thrust, the injured wolf drove her steel sword through the abdomen of the mage, who hadn’t expected her to shake off a wound such as that so quickly. Then, raising her leg and pressing her foot against his chest, she kicked him off her blade, allowing his body to fall to the ground in a crumpled and bloodied heap.

But even as quickly as Fola had recovered, the momentary break in the line caused a gap wide enough to allow a few soldiers through. She swung the chain over her head, then brought it down low, effectively wrapping the chain around his ankle. With a quick jerk, she pulled him back towards her, drawing her dagger and thrusting the blade through his chin and into his skull.

The other soldier who had escaped met his demise as the few refugees guarding the gate were able to dispatch him quickly. Yennefer turned to face the bulk of the battlefield, only to find a Nilfgaardian soldier rushing towards her with a blade in hand. She extended her arm and readied herself to cast Aard, but her entire body revolted against the notion and she found herself falling to her knees as a wave of pain traveled through her body.

Her eyes widened as she looked up to find him hovering over her with his sword raised high above his head. Just as he began to swing downwards at her, an arrow pierced his eye and he fell back, toppling over several bodies in the process. Yennefer looked over her shoulder, still shaken from the pain, to see Sabrina leaning wearily over the tower wall with bow in hand. 

“Yennefer, what happened?” Lark yelled as she pulled her to her feet, both of them being shielded by a few angry bear witchers who had come to reinforce the gap while Yennefer recovered.

“Apparently dimeritium affects us too. I can’t cast my signs,” she said, as the hopelessness in her voice began to return. Lark had returned to her place in the line, but Yennefer could see how far they had been pushed back. They were losing their footing and she knew it was only a matter of time before they were completely overwhelmed, and all was lost.

And yet, just as quickly as her hope had faded, so had it returned. For in the distance, above the cries of pain and that of battle, there was another sound. It was still far away, but it was there.

The drums of war from the Northern armies.

“They’re here,” Yennefer said. First as a whisper, then as a shout.

“There isn’t enough time,” Anica said as she looked at Yennefer, her face covered in blood and her hair a matted mess. “They are breaking through, we won’t be able to hold them back long enough.”

As she watched their line begin to collapse, Tissaia’s words echoed in her mind.  _ Everything you have ever felt, everything you’ve buried _ . Yennefer began to walk forward, her eyes fell to the flaming lantern swaying on a chain in her hand. It’s runes glowing with the power of Philippa's spell, she could feel the heat of it against her legs.

“Forget control, let your chaos explode,” Yennefer said out loud as she began to swing the lantern once again, finishing the rest of Tissaia’s statement to her. After bashing open the head of an incoming soldier with a swift, yet powerful swing, she redirected the momentum and brought the lantern crashing down to the ground.

A torrent of hot flames spilled forth and began to spread across the grasses, consuming it and growing along the way. Yennefer called out for the others to cast igni and retreat behind the wall of fire. A single Nilfgaardian mage tried to cast a shielding spell and halt the blaze, but Yennefer chucked Coral’s throwing axe into their shoulder and watched as they fell and were swallowed by the fire. 

The smoke began to sting in her throat as she backed away, looking on as the Nilfgaardian army doubted for moments too long. In those moments, the Northern armies arrived, spilling onto the battlefield, sweeping over the enemy soldiers. Caught between the fire and an overwhelming force that combined the troops of Redania, Temeria and Kaedwen, they chose to either scatter into the forest, leap into the Yaruga or be slaughtered. 

~~~

After the Northern armies had arrived, Yennefer remembered little. She remembered shouts of victory around her, but her own voice was too worn to utter a sound. She remembered stumbling inside the fort and collapsing onto her knees, stabbing her steel sword into the ground and resting her forehead against the cool metal pommel as the world turned around her. 

She remembered someone shaking her by the shoulders, then looking into Vanielle’s brown eyes as the sorceress asked her for a location to cast a portal to. Yennefer didn’t know what she meant, her head ringing from the battle, so much so that she could barely focus on what the mage was saying. 

“I need somewhere to bring Tissaia and you to. Philippa, Triss and Sabrina all have their kings and they’re being taken care of. I’d rather not be seen here, yet.” 

In as few words as she could manage, Yennefer described to her the location of Tissaia’s house in Rinde. As she waited until Vanielle had retrieved someone to carry Tissaia, she wondered whether the wards around it would send them to another location entirely. In the middle of the ocean, for example. She found herself too tired to care about such things. 

Vanielle did get someone to help them with Tissaia. It could have been anyone, since Yennefer only registered them as a vague blur before she entered the portal. She remembered her sword clattering onto the kitchen floor of Tissaia’s house. She remembered thinking about the wards, which had apparently faded. And then, she remembered nothing anymore.

* * *

[brazenedMinstrel](https://soundcloud.com/user-768938233) · [Still Waters Chapter 33 - Aftertalks](https://soundcloud.com/user-768938233/still-waters-chapter-33-aftertalks)

_(Aftertalks and bonus narration w/ music by the two of us!)_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WE'RE DOING A Q&A AT THE FINAL CHAPTER!!   
> If there's anything you'd like to know about the fic, its creators, the Still Waters au in general, headcanons, etc, don't hesitate to drop the question in the comments :D


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